Darth Zanleya's Legacy
by DarthZanleya
Summary: The tale of Zanleya a young force sensitive girl living in the era of the old republic, the adventures, the battles, the betrayals and schemes that made her who she is. The Sith Empire has returned, the galaxy is at war and anyone daring enough can make a name for themselves. Beginnings: a slave on Nar Shaddaa and chased by the servants of her master Zanleya runs for her life...
1. Beginnings

**Beginnings – 3664.140 BY**

She ran, staggering and desperately pushing her way through the crowded streets of Nar Shaddaa. Shoving people and many different species of humanoid aliens out of her way. Shouts and yells followed her, insults thrown in both basic and huttese after her rapidly retreating form. Gasping for breath she cast a glance behind her, the houk and the trio of gamorreans were still gaining on her, equally barrelling civilians out of their path. Looking forward again she instinctively ducked, narrowly avoiding a low flying swoop bike. The street was lined with stalls and market stands, selling every variant of fruit, beverage and stim known to the galaxy. Customers of all races were browsing and bartering, trading and talking, shopping and swapping.

None of this Zanleya noticed or cared about; all the young red headed girl needed to do was put as much distance between herself and the minions of Bragga the Hutt. So she ran, her golden orange dress flapping behind her, sandals beating out a rapid tattoo on the concrete. Bright neon lights shone down on her pale skin and the air stank of exotic spices and the exhaust fumes of the industrial sector. Almost everybody looking in her direction simply watched the chase with interest, nobody tried to intervene; it was hardly a rare sight in the underbelly of the Smuggler's Moon. Her lungs were burning, breaths coming in gasps. She flung herself down a side street, knocking a surprised devaronian over in the process.

He started to shout angrily, before being thrown aside again as the houk came storming after her.

The street broadened out into another shopping alley where overhead lights shone on a golden statue in honour of some hutt or other. Zanleya glanced over her shoulder again, green eyes wide with fear, they were not far behind her. She did not want to imagine what they would do if they caught her, when they caught her she corrected herself. Technically Bragga would want her back, but houks were known for their love of violence and lack of intelligence, not a healthy combination. Being caught would result in agony at best.

Then the inevitable happened, she tripped on her dress, stumbling forward and pitching face first onto the ground with a cry of surprise and pain. Desperately she rolled over and tried to scrabble to her feet. The houk and gamorreans were now practically on top of her.

"Help!" She screamed in a high pitched voice, a desperate cry of primal terror. But if anybody paid any attention, they knew better than to interfere. Sheer panic gripped her; she was in for it now.

"Got yoar now pirddy hooman!" The houk jeered, his brutish face leering at her as he brandished an oversized knife. The gamorreans grunted their eager pig like squeals and ground to a halt behind the towering houk.

She did not know why, but a survival instinct made her thrust both her hands out toward the four brown clad thugs. Behind the involuntary action was all of her terror, her fear, her desperation. The four figures were flung backwards, wrenched off their feet by an unseen power. Zanleya gasped in surprise, staring in disbelief as the houk crashed into a spice stall and the gamorreans struck either pedestrians or a wall. Had she, had she just used the force? She wondered in amazement. Now however was not the time to question what had just happened. Pulling herself to her feet, she turned and ran, knowing they would not stay stopped for long. Perhaps she could lose them in the crowd, she thought in desperation, painfully aware that she could not outrun them.

"Dats it!" The houk shouted in anger. There was the unmistakeable clicking sound of a blaster coming off safety. She realised with horror that he was going to shoot her! There was a sharp sound of a blaster firing and almost simultaneously another noise. She threw herself sideways, trying to dodge the shot. Nothing hit her. She fell upon the unforgiving ground again, winding herself in the process.

There was a scream of pain from behind her and she looked round in surprise. The houk was clutching his chest, staggering backward. The three gamorreans had drawn their axes. Standing just a metre from her was black hooded figure, clasped in his right hand was … a red lightsaber.

The three gamorreans charged forward having clambered to their feet. The figure held their armoured left arm out, hand shaped as if it was clasped around somebodies neck. The gamorrean on the left was lifted into the air, hands scrabbling at its throat, making a gurgling sound that was almost pleasing to her. The figure relaxed the hand the alien fell to the floor and lay still. The first of the other two reached the figure, axe raised. From its build she was pretty sure the figure was male, but she was yet to see its face.

So fast she barely saw it the figure sidestepped the blow and swung his lightsaber round ramming it through the gamorrean's chest piece, the humming blade bursting out of its back. The figure pulled the weapon free, letting the shocked gamorrean fall forward, carried on by its own momentum. The figure then flung the lightsaber at the one remaining assailant, who was only a few metres away. The spinning red sabre literally bisected the gamorrean, cutting it in two from left shoulder to right hip, the two pieces of cauterised body falling to the ground with a thump. The figure reached out his right hand and the lightsaber flew back to his grip.

The figure strode over to the houk, who was rolling on the floor still clutching his chest. In a simple, almost lazy, move he decapitated the hapless alien, then turned his lightsaber off and clipped it to a belt. He turned round to face her; she was still lying sprawled and stunned on the ground.

The figure was clad in full black armour, the imperial insignia printed in red upon his left breast plate. His face was shrouded by the black hood, but it was unmistakeably that of a Sith pureblood. His skin was deep red and his eyes blazing orange, small fleshy tendrils hung from his chin and cheeks. There were thin bony ridges above his nose and his eyebrows were almost spine like. His mouth was set into a grim line. Being in his presence was intimidating, being under his gaze was petrifying. She could feel the power emanating from him; he radiated a sense of strength and self-confidence. She cowered away, almost shivering as his heavy boots brought him closer.

"Th…th…thank… yo…you," she stammered, her voice betraying her. She barely knew what to say, Sith were as fearsome as they were legendary, for there was no mistaking what he was.

"It is no coincidence that you ended up here, the force has brought you to me," he stated in a deep voice. She did not, and in fact could not, reply. "I am Darth Kharvak and you are coming with me."


	2. Introductions

**Introductions – 3662.189 BY**

Tentatively Zanleya approached the gathered group of acolytes, trying as best she could not to show fear or trepidation. The group was made up of a wide collection of beings, alien and non, male and female. At their head and facing them stood overseer Harkun, a human male clad in light armour with a peculiar red tattoo over his right eye. This was the first day of her proper training at the Academy on Korriban and she was understandably nervous.

"Good, that's the last of you miserable akk dogs," Harkun stated as she joined the others. She cast a glance back, Darth Kharvak, the Sith who had picked her out to be his apprentice, was stood on a gantry above them. He was clad in his black plate armour, the imperial insignia embossed on the left breast plate. His burning orange eyes were scrutinizing her and the other acolytes, assessing and judging them all. Hastily she turned away, giving her attention back to the overseer.

"It is my job to pick out which of you sorry lot are worthy of becoming Sith, although by the looks of you that could be a hard job," he sneered, hands clasped behind his back. Zanleya let her gaze wander over the gathered acolytes. There were eighteen others, the majority clad in simple grey tunics. A few were in tattered rags, clearly the ones picked out from amongst the many slaves of the Empire. Two others wore fancier garb, one in light armour another in grey hooded robes, unsurprisingly they were both Sith purebloods. She suspected they came from Sith families and that their parents had sent them to Korriban to train. There was one other who caught her eye though, a human female clad in white. Like herself the other female had bright red hair, making her stand out and she looked to be only a few years older. Zanleya herself was clad in a basic grey acolytes robe. Her musings however were cut short by further insults from Harkun.

"Some of you may think you're special, or that you're tough, or that you deserve to be here, but let me tell you now, you are all worthless until you prove otherwise. I've seen scores of scum like you and I shall go on to see scores more… and you look most disappointing. Well, most of you at least. We do thankfully have two true Sith amongst us so at least when the rest of you inevitably die I'll still feel like I've accomplished something," he went on, his harsh voice dripping with contempt. "These are Jandra and Anral Merrek, pay attention because this is what a true Sith looks like," he said gesturing to the two purebloods.

"Sadly I can't just let the purebloods loose on you and be done with it, I need to at least try to train you first," Harkun stated. Zanleya noticed out of the corner of her eye the white clad acolyte narrow her eyes at Harkun.

"I shall try to teach you basic combat and how to use the force to deceive your foes. Overseer Tremel will set your trials and teach you the ways of the Sith. Tremel has already told me great things about Anral so while I doubt that you can follow in his footsteps at least wallow in his glory," Harkun explained, indicating the pureblood in robes. Zanleya examined him, whilst trying to make it look like she was not doing so. His skin was a bright scarlet and his hair deep red. Small fleshly tendrils, characteristic of his species, hung from his chin and cheeks. He seemed to sense he was being examined though and his head snapped round, his pale blue eyes meeting her inquisitive gaze.

"I won't bother getting my hopes up, but if any of you actually do well then you can hope that one of the Lords of the Sith decides to take you on as their apprentice. Although I see at least one of you doesn't have to worry about that," Harkun stated, now turning his gaze to Zanleya. She put on a defiant face as most of the group turned to her.

"Anyway, I shall at least try to get you ready," Harkun said in resignation. He spun and swept off without another word, stalking across the rusty red sand of the training grounds. There was a moment's pause, the gathered acolytes still unnerved by the rather brutal introduction. Anral however strode after the overseer and the rest quickly followed. Harkun led them to an open area with a series of padded training dummies against one rune covered wall. There was a rack of training staffs besides them and Harkun waved to it.

"Take one, I shall attempt to teach you some of Shii-Cho, that's form one for all you uneducated slaves. This is the first and most basic form of lightsaber combat. Whilst it is rarely used in actual lightsaber duels it's a good place to start, although I expect most of you will never get to use a lightsaber," Harkun lectured. Obediently the acolytes took a staff each and formed a pair of rows in front of Harkun. Zanleya ended up next to Anral and the Sith threw her a look of disdain.

"Now, there are six body zones in Shii-Cho and attacks should be diagonal strikes. Hold your staffs in front of you like this…" Harkun began. Soon Zanleya and the other acolytes were lost to the world of blademanship as Harkun began to teach them the basics. Darth Kharvak had not deemed it worth his while educating her in the art of combat, stating that he would leave that up to Harkun and Tremel. Instead she had spent the last couple of years learning Sith philosophy and history. As a result she was as much in the dark as the slaves when it came to stances and proper form. Anral on the other hand appeared to already know a fair amount and when she thought he was not looking she would check how he was moving and attempt to copy him. It was hard going, particularly as she had never had any form of combat training before.

"Right, that's enough of that you spineless bogwings! Let us see if you've learnt anything. Pair off with the acolyte next to you, first to disarm their opponent wins, I don't care how you do it, just no force powers," Harkun ordered a couple of hours later. The group of acolytes stopped their drills, relaxing weapon arms and after some hesitation turned to one another.

"Wait, shouldn't we pair up with somebody of our own stature?" A female yellow skinned twi'lek objected. Zanleya turned her head to see that the unfortunate girl had been paired off with a hulking rattataki.

"No, that's not what I said… why would you want that?" Harkun said slowly, his eyes narrowing menacingly. Zanleya almost winced as the twi'lek responded, knowing full well that the girl should have shut her mouth.

"To make it fair!" The twi'lek retorted. Harkun scowled and held out his right hand, the unfortunate twi'lek was wrenched from her feet and shot across the training ground to halt abruptly at Harkun's outstretched hand. He clasped the girl by the throat, her legs dangling in mid-air.

"In case it had escaped your notice, wretch, life is not fair," Harkun hissed, but loud enough that all the rest of the acolytes could hear. "And if you dare answer back to me again, I shall make sure that you are thrown into the wilds with both your dainty little hands severed and strung round your neck, understand?" The girl was petrified unable to form words, her eyes wide.

"Now, go and duel Traz," Harkun snapped, dropping her at his feet. She collapsed in a quivering heap, limbs visibly shaking. "Get to it then you worthless maggots and make sure you show some respect to your superiors!" A slightly more anxious group of acolytes turned to each other. Zanleya felt a slight twist of nervous apprehension in her stomach, she turned to her left but the acolyte on that side had already paired off. Reluctantly she turned right to Anral, he was not somebody she wished to duel.

"So, you're Kharvak's little protégé are you?" Anral queried. He held his staff at the ready, both hands gripped close to the base as if it were a lightsaber. "You don't look like much."

"Then that gives me the advantage of surprise," Zanleya retorted. Anral gave a short bark of laughter in response.

"You have spirit, I'll give you that," he stated. "It'll almost be a shame to see it broken."

"Those who accept the power of the dark side must also accept the challenge of holding on to it," Zanleya quoted. "I don't plan on failing that challenge." She adopted the ready stance of Shii-Cho.

"I know that line, who said it?" Anral queried, frowning as he searched his memory.

"Darth Revan," Zanleya replied.

"Yes, that's it. I'm impressed," Anral said, nodding his head. "Perhaps you're not just another worthless acolyte after all," Anral mused. "At least you seem to be more knowledgeable than the rest of this rabble."

"Anral stop admiring that girl and start beating her, she's too young for you anyway!" Harkun's voice yelled from somewhere to their left. Anral snarled in response and swung his staff at Zanleya, swiping down in a vicious strike. Zanleya was so startled by his sudden change in attitude that she barely managed to block the strike. Anral pressed his advantage, striking left then right, forcing her to parry as fast as she could. The force of his blows jarred her arms; he was quite a few years older than her and substantially stronger. She just about managed to make a counter attack, swinging at Anral's chest, but he batted the attack aside and swiftly struck her right wrist, causing her to cry out in pain and drop the staff. Anral pulled his next swing, but held his staff at the ready.

"Better!" Harkun shouted. Rubbing her injured wrist Zanleya retrieved her staff and took a few paces back from Anral, then assumed the ready stance once more. If the contest had been to recount where Shii-Cho came from she would have been well equipped. She knew from her studies that it was the first lightsaber form invented and was actually designed by the Jedi whilst they were still using solid weapons, as opposed to the modern lightsaber. However such theoretical knowledge was of little use to her against a real opponent.

Anral attacked again, this time with more measured blows, chopping diagonally and aiming at her wrists with the intent of disarming her. Bringing to the front of her mind the last few hours of training Zanleya attempted to put what she had learnt into practice. There was however a substantial difference between being told and shown how something worked and actually having to do it. It did not take many moments before Anral disarmed her again, this time by striking her shoulder and then knocking the staff from her grip.

There was a resounding crack and a scream of agony, causing both of them to turn to look. The rattataki had just delivered a brutal blow to the side of the yellow twi'lek's head and she was on the ground hands clutched to her face. As Zanleya turned her attention back to her partner she spotted Kharvak looking on. She knew she had to do better; it would not do to be shown up so badly in her first martial lesson. Gritting her teeth with determination she resumed the ready stance. This time she lunged forward, before Anral got the chance, swinging for his arms. Whilst the sudden attack took him by surprise it was not terribly well executed and he sidestepped, rapping her knuckles with his staff. White hot pain shot through her hands and she dropped her staff with a cry.

Growling in frustration she swept it up again, ignoring the pain and once more faced off against Anral. He lunged for her, a sweeping overhead strike flashing down. This time though she dived forward rather than ducking back, swinging at his legs as she went. Anral was taken aback and managed a moment of surprise before his legs were swept out from under him, sending him tumbling to the dusty ground. The move was not strictly part of Shii-Cho, but Harkun had said that he did not care how they disarmed their opponent. Part of her wanted to strike the fallen pureblood with all of her might, to inflict pain upon him for the last trio of defeats she had suffered. Common sense however outweighed the need for revenge; he was quite obviously the better fighter of the two and causing him pain now would only make the subsequent fights worse for her. Instead she lowered the tip of her staff and held it by his head just brushing his ear.

"Drop it," she commanded with a note of savage glee. Obediently Anral dropped his staff and Zanleya stepped backwards with a smile. She cast a glance toward Kharvak and saw him nod his approval.

The next couple of bouts however saw her once more biting the dirt, quite literally the second time. Anral offered his hand to her as she lay face down in the sand, gratefully she took it and he pulled her back to her feet. Neither of them said anything, but the gesture spoke volumes.

Over the next few minutes she succeeded in disarming him twice more but was herself unarmed a further trio of times, receiving a smarting blow on each occasion. Harkun patrolled around the ground, giving constructive criticism, or sometimes just plain abuse, to the acolytes. Her body ached from the series of blows she had received, although she was at least mildly pleased to see that Anral was limping slightly after a particularly vicious strike of hers.

"Enough! This is like watching armless jawas attempting to fight! There's only so much stupidity I can handle in one morning. It is clear it's going to take a lot of work to get any of you near a reasonable standard. Go, you are dismissed. Tremel will see you this afternoon at fourteen hundred," Harkun snapped. Zanleya relaxed her arms with relief; the sun was at its zenith and was mercilessly blazing down on them. She felt like she had been left in the wastes on Tatooine for days, her mouth was parched and her back damp with sweat. So the call for what she presumed was a lunch break was welcome indeed. She took her staff to the rack and rested it besides the others, eager to get out of the sun and give her battered limbs a rest.

"Not bad young Zanleya," Anral remarked. "You appear to be slightly more competent than the majority of your peers." It was a backhanded compliment, but a compliment none the less.

"Have you already seen them fight, or were you just watching them as well as me?" Zanleya asked.

"I've seen a few of them, I've already trained with some of them under Tremel," Anral replied, starting to walk back toward the body of the Academy and the nearest cantina.

"Who is worth watching out for then?" Zanleya asked, hoping to gain some more information about her fellow acolytes. Darth Kharvak was fond of the phrase 'knowledge is power, just as much as power is power' and she planned to follow his teachings to the letter.

"That one there is Traz, the rattataki, brute of a fellow, he looks like a street thug but he's remarkably quick. The white clad one is Änastasiä, she's a weird one, I've heard rumours that she's from a rim world somewhere and that the imperials experimented on her. Probably best not to cross her," Anral advised. The white clad acolyte turned her head to look at them, as if she knew she was being talked about, despite being out of hearing range. An unnatural shiver ran down Zanleya's spine, but she returned the strange girls stare nonetheless. "The only other person of note is Jandra, I know him quite well as our parents know each other. The rest of the acolytes are worthless trash like Harkun said, at least, those that I've already met."

"Your parents?" Zanleya queried, hoping to learn more about the pureblood seeing as he had deemed her worthy of talking to.

"Darth Alanra and Darth Rowarn," Anral said proudly. Zanleya's eyebrows rose in surprise, his parents were both Darths! She realised why Harkun had held him in such high regard, with parents like his he was undoubtedly a skilled force user already.

"Both Darths… wow," she uttered; Anral smiled in appreciation of the awe he was inspiring.

"Still, you've somehow attracted the attention of Darth Kharvak, which by all accounts is no mean feat," Anral stated; it was Zanleya's turn to smile.

"Yes, he found me on the Smuggler's Moon," she replied, using the common name for Nar Shaddaa.

"Ugh, Hutt space, they truly are filthy animals," Anral huffed in disgust.

"Believe me, I know more than most," Zanleya hissed, her normally melodic voice taking on a harsher darker tone.

"Why so?" Anral asked. She was reluctant to divulge the details of her past to somebody she had only just met, but decided that Anral would be a strong ally to have. Getting on good terms with him could only be beneficial for her.

"Before I ran away I was a slave to one of them. A repulsive individual called Bragga the Hutt," Zanleya replied, clenching her fists. Anral paused and turned to her.

"I sense hate in you, good, let that anger fuel you, let it give you strength, because trust me young Zanleya, you're going to need it here."


	3. Two Blades

**Two Blades – 3661.245 BY**

Zanleya spun her blade round, hastily parrying a strike aimed for her head. She leapt sideways and struck out, but her opponent blocked the attack with ease, following through and nearly impaling her in the process.

Their combat lesson had finished and as usual there had been the chance for acolytes to challenge each other to duels. They used simple practice blades lined with tiny spikes, each laced with pelko bug venom; any injury caused by the weapon induced temporary paralysis in the limb struck and thus stimulated having an arm or leg cut off by a lightsaber. Traz had challenged her; the big rattataki seemed to have taken a severe dislike to her and was intent on venting some of his rage upon her.

The two pulled apart, his sweaty tattooed face leering at her as he circled round. The other acolytes and the two overseers had formed a ring around the top of the small sandy pit. Unlike the spectators of street fights or brawls that had broken out on Nar Shaddaa, they remained completely silent, watching and studying. She took a deep breath, grateful for the short respite; her arms were aching from the sheer force of Traz's blows and the effort of blocking them.

"Peace is a lie! Stop admiring each other!" Overseer Harkun snapped angrily. Traz grunted like an angry tuk'ata and charged, blade held low. Zanleya bent her knees and readied herself, keeping her own blade pointing at her opponent's throat. He swung upward in a cleaving swipe which she ducked, letting him stumble forward. Instantly she lashed out, slashing at his chest, he pivoted away on one foot and brought his blade sweeping back down. They clashed again in a series of metallic crashes, Traz lunged, she sidestepped and slashed at his torso for a second time. Showing amazing agility for somebody built like a wall Traz dodged the attack and brought his leg up.

Zanleya's breath exploded form her body as his knee struck her in the chest; she doubled over, dropping her blade in the process. Traz's fist struck the side of her head, knocking her over. She collapsed head ringing from the blow, but before she had even hit the ground his weapon swung round and slashed across her chest, blade tearing through her training garments just above her hips. Pain lanced through her body as the venom took hold, paralysing her almost instantly from the waist down. She crashed onto the sandy floor, jarring her spine, still without regaining her breath. Zanleya gaped like a fish out of water, but no air came, her diaphragm had been partly restrained by some of the venom. Her vision started to swim, but not before she saw Traz raise his boot over her face, the dark underside blotting out the orange sun of Korriban.

"That's enough!" She heard Harkun shout, his voice sounding as if it came from far away or deep underwater. The boot readjusted and instead kicked her in the side, then her entire world went black.

Slowly her surroundings swam back into view, the dark haze gradually lifting from her vision. Zanleya groaned in agony, her head thundered, her chest and side stung as if a wompa had taken a bite out of her and her entire body felt bruised. She gritted her teeth and forced her eyes to focus, at first she could make out very little, then a grey ceiling materialised along with a bright strip light. She tried to roll over, but gave up almost instantly as her chest blazed with fiery fury again.

"Please hold still, moving excessively will increase recovery time," a mechanical voice droned. Meddroid, Zanleya thought, she was in a medbay, which was something at least, the overseers had clearly not chosen to simply throw her into the wilds for her failure. Ignoring the droid she made a second attempt at moving and hauled herself into a sitting position, supressing a scream as she did so. She leant back against the wall, breathing heavily. She was in a small room, sitting on what was once a white sheeted bed, now decorated with more ominous crimson patches. A humanoid meddroid stood beside the bed, a syringe of something in one hand. There was a small operating table behind it, the walls were whitewashed and lined with a vast assortment of medical equipment.

"Please hold still," the droid repeated. It took her arm in its cold grip and jabbed the syringe into her, she ground her teeth again, trying to block out the pain. After a few moments however the concoction did bring some relief.

"What's the… time… droid?" Zanleya croaked, her voice hoarse.

"It is eighteen ten planet time," the droid intoned. She cursed.

"I have to… go," she declared, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, bringing forth another gasp as she did so.

"You may cause yourself further serious injury," the droid warned, its green eyes flashing at her. However it knew better than to try and restrain her.

"Trust me droid… if I'm late to Darth Kharvak I'll… suffer far more than a serious injury," she retorted sombrely. She had to get to his chambers quickly, he would be expecting her at eighteen thirty. She groaned again, realising that she had been unconscious for the majority of the day. Gingerly she pulled herself up and nearly collapsed, her legs giving beneath her. The droid caught her and helped her to her feet.

"I don't need your help," she hissed, pushing it away, although she knew that really she did. Gripping the edge of the bed she staggered to the door, each step sending a spasm of pain coursing through her. She hated Traz, she would make him suffer she promised herself; one day she would be standing above him, laughing as she stomped on his broken body. That mental image gave her strength; she slapped her hand on the door control and was faced with a bare corridor.

"Where am I droid?" She demanded, not turning round.

"On the twelfth level in the east wing," the droid replied, its basic logic processors telling it not to sound smug that she had just asked for help.

She stumbled out, keeping one hand on the wall. Darth Kharvak's chambers were far above her current position on the fifth level in the main section of the academy… she was going to be late, she realised with dread. Uttering a string of curses that would have horrified her younger self, she limped along the corridor, her progress tracked by the concerned meddroid. Every movement of her hips sent another ripple of agony through her. She clasped one hand to her waist and kept the other on the wall for support. Staggering to the end of the corridor she reached the stairs and there cursed the Dark Council for not bothering to invest in a few turbolifts. Gritting her teeth she began to limp her way up the steps.

"Can I assist you my Lord?" A timid voice asked, after she had ascended one floor. Her head snapped round to see a blue skinned male twi'lek in the garments of a slave.

"No. Weakness is not tolerated," she retorted, echoing the words of Darth Kharvak.

"Of course my Lord," the twi'lek said, before scurrying off. Spurred on by her own words she resumed her climb up the seven flights of stairs to the fifth level.

Zanleya was as good as a gasping wreck by the time she reached the top. She was certain she had felt something give and imagined the meddroid would not be impressed with her, nevertheless she knew she had other far more pressing concerns.

Darth Kharvak's chambers were in the main section, a fair distance from where she currently was. She resumed her limping loping walk as she made her way to the Dark Lord's sanctum. She passed several other Sith along the way, most in the garb of Lords at least, very few acolytes came to the upper levels. Most of them ignored her, a few sneered at her battered appearance but thankfully none stopped or challenged her.

Twenty minutes later and Zanleya was stood before the imposing black door that gave entrance to Kharvak's chambers. Her breath came in ragged gasps and every part of her body hurt. If it was possible to replicate the feeling of falling form a spaceship she imagined it would be very similar to what she currently felt.

Zanleya pressed the intercom, but knew he would have sensed her presence already. She equally knew that she was late and that did not bode well. The door slid open. Kharvak was stood before a desk, an empty high backed chair facing him. The walls were adorned with tablets bearing inscriptions in numerous ancient languages; there was another door at the rear of the chamber. Several priceless artefacts and carvings decorated a number of the spaces on the floor. A pair of red banners hung from the wall behind the desk, the imperial logo displayed in white upon them. Zanleya's attention however was most certainly not on the room's decorations but on the back of the hooded figure.

She shut the door and dropped to her knees, which was not difficult in her current state; bowing her head she prepared to face the storm. Whether he was going to beat her, torture her mind or expose her to some other sorcery of the dark side she did not know, but she was certain he would punish her.

"You're late," his deep voice spoke the words calmly but condemningly.

"I'm sorry my Lord, I was in the medbay," Zanleya apologised, her voice still quiet and hoarse but now tinged with fear.

"I know, you failed in the duelling pit," he stated, spinning round to glare at her with his burning orange eyes, there was contempt and unbridled fury behind them. He was clad in his black battle armour, not that that was a surprise to her, she had never seen him out of it.

"I…" he raised a gauntleted hand threateningly and she quickly shut her mouth.

"Do not think yourself so special that I cannot find myself another acolyte. Traz is proving to be very capable," he threatened, taking a step forward. He had purposefully chosen to name Traz to anger her, a fact they both knew, but it worked nonetheless, her cheeks flushed red. "I picked you off the streets of Nar Shaddaa because I felt there was something special about you; you have a strong connection to the force, but that is useless if you fight like a blind jawa," he continued.

"My Lord I…" she protested.

"Did I give you permission to speak?!" He thundered, she flinched waiting for a blow from Kharvak, none fell. He was storing up his anger she guessed.

"Fine, continue, finish your excuse," he said very calmly. She knew that was worse, when he spoke gently it was usually because he was about to unleash his wrath.

"I do much better when we practice with duel sabres," she said meekly.

"Is that so?" Darth Kharvak stated, Zanleya raised her eyes to look at him; he was stood feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back glaring at her.

"Yes my Lord, but Harkun won't let me use one in the duelling pit," she elaborated, unsure if she was digging herself a deeper grave or climbing out if it.

"Prove it," Kharvak said simply. He held a hand out and a doubled bladed lightsaber shot off a rack on the wall and flew into his palm, he then tossed it to her. She caught it and stared at the weapon in fascination. It was the first time she had ever held a lightsaber before, the legendary weapon of the Sith. The cool metal casing felt right in her hand, as if it belonged. The two blade projectors were identical, one at either end, plain in style but somehow beautiful in their simplicity. She thought…

The harsh sound of a lightsaber igniting broke her reverie; Zanleya's eyes snapped up to see Kharvak leaping toward her, his own crimson red blade held high. Her eyes widened in panic and she threw herself sideways, rolling as she landed, sending a wave of white hot pain through her body. He landed where she had been kneeling a mere fraction of a second ago, his lightsaber striking the floor in a flurry of sparks. He had nearly killed her! Frantically she ignited the weapon she had been thrown, a pair of deep blue blades extending from it; apparently it was the weapon of one of Kharvak's vanquished foes. She lifted it above her head just in time to intercept a brutal chop from the Dark Lord of the Sith, adrenaline now pumping through her bloodstream. Was this her punishment she thought in panic, was he about to kill her or was he proving her weakness?

Desperately Zanleya extended her left palm and shoved with the force, trying to push her would-be master back. He barely even reacted, his own left hand waving the attack away as if he was lazily swatting a fly. She gritted her teeth and jumped to her feet, leaping backward and spinning the double bladed sabre in front of herself as she did so in an attempt to stop the pureblood from simply impaling her. He did not lung however. She landed and almost collapsed again as the impact jarred her already beaten body; at this point Kharvak charged.

"Peace is a lie!" Zanleya spat through gritted teeth, intoning the first part of the Sith code in an attempt to force herself to focus. She knew she had to ignore the pain or Kharvak would simply carve her up. Balancing herself again Zanleya pushed his sweeping attack aside, bringing the other end of her weapon round to chop at Kharvak's legs. It was a pathetic and very predictable attack, one Kharvak barely even bothered registering, he simply stepped over it and slashed down at her. She backed away, spinning her weapon as she had been taught to try to parry and deflect Kharvak's flurry of strikes.

Kharvak's face was hard and surprisingly emotionless, his blows precise. It was the best Zanleya could do to get either end of her lightsaber round to stop his single blade. His weapon seemed to be everywhere at once. Her arms were weak and her chest was on fire; she could not keep the fight up and they both knew it.

Grunting in anger and frustration Zanleya blocked another of Kharvak's strikes and then jabbed with the end of her weapon, pushing him back. She swore to herself that if this was to be her end she would make sure she hurt him first. She had thought about dying plenty of times, but at least this way she could exact a bit of revenge. She slashed aggressively left with one end then swung the weapon round to slash at Kharvak's left side with the other end. The move forced Kharvak to block attacks from both sides… something he did with ease, swapping his lightsaber to his left hand to counter her second strike. Then in a sudden burst he struck upwards, forcing her weapon up, in a normal mind-set she might have been able to spot or predict it, but battered and exhausted as she was she did not. She cried out as her arm was knocked up. In the same move he jabbed with his right fist, striking her shoulder. The lightsaber flew from her grip and clattered across the floor. She stumbled backward and struck the wall, her vision beginning to swim. The red tip of Kharvak's lightsaber appeared at her throat, the humming blade mere millimetres away. His burning eyes caught hers and held them, she felt as if they were staring into her very being, analysing every part of her. Zanleya matched the stare with all her anger and pain; she mentally vowed she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg. Although it was all she could do to stop herself falling forward onto the blade in exhaustion. Her limbs were shaking, body screaming, strained far beyond its limits.

"Better," he stated simply. "I shall see to it that you train with a double bladed weapon from now on." He flicked his lightsaber off and clipped it to his belt in one smooth move. Almost instantly Zanleya pitched forwards face first; Kharvak caught her with the force and lowered her to the floor where she blacked out once more.


	4. Parents

**Parents - 3661.259 BY**

Zanleya deftly twirled her lightsaber, spinning the double bladed weapon round to slash left then right, each move carefully executed. In reality she only held a training staff, but in her mind it was the lethal weapon of the Sith and every swing and swipe hew limbs and heads from imaginary opponents. Now that Harkun had permitted her to use a double bladed weapon during practice she was faring better; although she was yet to fight anybody outside of the simple drills. She was relieved that Traz seemed to have forgotten her for the time being, having beaten her to within a millimetre of her life a fortnight ago. The mere thought of him caused her to scowl and the next three imaginary foes she felled all bore his sneering rattataki face. Despite large amounts of kolto she still had a bandage around her midriff from Traz's blow and it was not an injury she bore with pride.

Zanleya moved swiftly, practicing her moves, booted feet patting out a regular rhythm on the flat roof. She was on top of one of the Academy's many sections, the ancient orangey stone beneath her. Before her lay the valley of the Dark Lord's, the sun slowly setting over the horizon in a blaze of crimson glory, as it sank darkness crept in, long fingers of shadow spreading from the many statues that lined the valley. The air was warm; the stone around her still radiating the scorching heat of the day, although a gentle breeze blew in from the plains.

As she spun her staff to cut down another fictitious nemesis she felt a presence behind her. She snapped round in a flash, staff raised and ready to strike whomever it was that dared creep up on her. Stood a few metres away was a Sith lady, the newcomer was smiling with mild amusement, her expression only just visible beneath her dark hood. The Sith was clad in close fitting black robes and a combination of the dim light and raised hood all but concealed her face. Her build was slight but it was immediately apparent from her posture that she knew how to handle herself in a fight. Small black pauldrons covered her shoulders and her hands were gloved, red marks on her light armour and belt finished her menacing visage. She stood tall with a poise that oozed confidence, as if the practicing acolyte was not a threat in the slightest.

"Why don't you lower your stick, I'm not planning on hurting you," the Sith said. Zanleya held her pose, eyeing up the intruder as if weighing up her chances of beating her in a duel. Then she spotted the lightsaber clipped to the newcomer's utility belt. Zanleya lowered her arms in resignation, it could slice through her staff in a single blow. Given that the Sith possessed a lightsaber she doubted that she could win in a contest of force prowess either and that meant she was at her mercy, not a situation she approved of. Rules forbade outright murder in the Academy and while technically she was on top of it rather than in it the thought gave her some small consolation. If it came to it though, she thought, she could name drop her master Darth Kharvak. For, while he was not on the Dark Council, he had a fearsome reputation and would not take kindly to somebody hurting his apprentice. All this she considered in a few seconds, preparing herself for as many potential outcomes as she could.

"What do you want?" Zanleya demanded, her eyes never straying from the Sith.

"I was actually just coming to investigate the presence I felt above my chambers," the lady replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. "It doesn't usually bode well when people climb above the room in which you sleep." Zanleya's brain raced, quickly trying to place in her mind what was below her in the Academy building. It was the residential wing for young Lords she realised, whoever it was that stood before her was without a doubt her superior and that meant she was in trouble. As much as she hated it, she recognised that deference and begging forgiveness was the safest way out of what could rapidly become a bad predicament.

"Sorry my Lord, I just wanted somewhere private to practice," Zanleya apologised with all the humility she could muster. One day, she swore to herself, she would be the Lord, demanding the respect of all around her, but for now she knew she must wait her turn. The Lady nodded, as if accepting the apology.

"Good, you are right to address me as Lord, although I would prefer the title of Lady, but Gethen will do," the Sith stated. She lifted her hands to her head and lowered the hood, revealing a fair skinned and relatively young human face behind. Gethen's eyes were shadowed with purple but her skin lacked the marks or blemishes caused by excessive use of the dark side, resulting in her still possessing youthful beauty. She did however have a scar across the left side of her face which looked like it had come from an explosion of some sort, although it did not horribly mar her appearance. "And you are?"

"Zanleya, acolyte to Darth Kharvak," she replied dutifully.

"Ahh Darth Kharvak, one of the purebloods?" Gethen queried, Zanleya nodded in response. "I know of him, Darth Erebus is my master." Zanleya's eyebrows rose. She had heard of Erebus and he was not somebody to be crossed and if he had chosen Gethen to be his apprentice then she was somebody to be rightfully scared of.

"Good, I sense your fear Zanleya, you are wise to be afraid, but I bear no ill will against you, ensure that it stays that way," Gethen warned. Zanleya nodded, not really knowing what else to say.

"Come, let's sit and talk. Now that you've got me out of my room we might as well enjoy the sunset," Gethen said, walking to the edge of the Academy's roof and sitting down, her legs dangling over the lip of the building. Zanleya followed her to the edge and sat next to the Lady; she knew it would be foolish to refuse. "Erebus has kept me very busy this past week and I've not had a chance for any socialising, not that my fellow Ladies and Lords are much fun to mix with anyway. I'd rather talk to a sickly bantha than the majority of them!" Gethen said. "So tell me a bit about yourself, your trials, your master."

"Well… I've been here for…. just over three years now," Zanleya said, after performing a mental calculation. "Darth Kharvak rescued me from Nar Shaddaa and took me as his apprentice. I've been training here since, although he deemed me too young to join the new inductees at first so he educated me himself for the first couple of years," Zanleya explained, relaxing slightly as she told her story.

"And this last year? I see you're injured," Gethen observed. Zanleya scowled at this, not appreciating being reminded of her recent failure.

"I joined the latest group of acolytes this year. That injury came from being beaten by another acolyte in the duelling pit," Zanleya replied stiffly.

"Ahh hence your evening practicing up here, you're planning to take revenge?" Gethen said, although it was more a statement than a question.

"Yes," Zanleya agreed with vehemence.

"Very good. Is Harkun still an overseer, is he teaching you?" Gethen queried.

"He is," Zanleya answered.

"Ahh so he's still at it, he set my trials, although I think he got a bit scared of me when he learnt that Erebus was my master," Gethen said with a smile that implied there was more to the story than she was letting on.

"I wish Kharvak had that effect on him," Zanleya grumbled. "Harkun doesn't try to kill me I guess but he sure doesn't give me any mercy either." Gethen chuckled. "What about you, if you don't mind me asking, how did you get to be here?" Zanleya inquired, seeing that the young Lady seemed to be in an amicable mood.

"Of course you can ask, it's not often I get to talk to somebody new," Gethen said. "I was born on Balmorra, it's a war torn world in the colonies region, that between the core worlds and the inner rim. Not such a great place to grow up, although I don't remember it that well. I never knew my parents; I was already an orphan by the time the war began. Do you know of the Voidwolf?" Gethen asked.

"No," Zanleya replied, shaking her head.

"Harridax Kirill is his real name, although most people call him the Voidwolf. He's the Grand Admiral of the Empire and a former slaver; he attacked Balmorra and I guess I was unlucky enough to be there when he did. My brother and I were taken as slaves, although they quickly realised he was force sensitive so whisked him away to Korriban to train, I haven't seen him since," Gethen explained with a note of melancholy in her voice. Zanleya sensed a lie, but did not say anything. "I was left completely alone as a slave to the Empire, those were dark years," Gethen continued, her eyes staring into the distance as if looking into the past.

"I was a slave too, although for a Hutt rather than the Empire," Zanleya remarked.

"Ugh, I'm not sure which would have been worse! Anyway, fortunately life didn't stay that way, I was force sensitive as well, although they didn't realise it at first; as soon as they did I was sent to Korriban too. I guess I must have done something well because I drew the attention of Darth Erebus almost straight away and he took me on as his apprentice. I finished my basic training and became a Lady of the Sith and that more or less brings me up to now. Although Darth Erebus still has more to teach me, much more it seems given how much time off I get!"

"That's quite the tale," Zanleya remarked.

"What about you then? Who were your parents and how did you end up on Nar Shaddaa? Or were you unlucky enough to be born there?" Gethen asked. Zanleya hesitated, but when Gethen turned to face her she decided it was best to comply with the request and tell her story.

"I was born on Nar Shaddaa, an only child, my mother lived there. My father, Jenran…" she choked up slightly before spitting out her next words, "is a Jedi."

"A Jedi?" Gethen exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes, a filthy hypocrite! One of their 'oh so noble' knights," Zanleya went on, her words dripping with enough venom to kill a fully grown nexu. "He fell in love with my mother when he was stationed on the Smuggler's Moon," she continued. "Then when I was seven the Jedi council demanded his presence elsewhere… he just cut ties and left. He feared the council would find out he'd broken their code and fallen in love so I guess he didn't want to risk communications from off world. What sort of stupid order is that? That they can't love?" Zanleya ranted. Gethen was quite amused by the acolyte's anger, but did not interrupt. "My mother tried to reach out to him, but he refused to have anything more to do with her, he said it was too dangerous to come and see her or contact her and that his true duty was to the stinking Jedi, not her. Then that was it, we never saw or heard from him again. My mother was in debt though and without Jenran's protection a slimy Hutt called Bragga took us into slavery. She died under the Hutt's treatment," a tear nearly fell down Zanleya's face, but her anger and hate burned away the emotions of loss and sorrow. "I was a serving girl in the palace until I ran away and when Bragga's minions were about to catch me Darth Kharvak showed up and brought me here," Zanleya said.

"You hate them then, the Jedi?" Gethen asked.

"Yes, every single member of their wretched and hypocritical order," Zanleya raged.

"Good, hate will make you strong. So tell me, what do you know of the Empire? My view is somewhat tainted by being a slave to it in my childhood." The pair chatted on into the evening, sometimes Gethen would ask questions or seek Zanleya's view on a topic, other times she would tell a tale of her own exploits. At length though the night drew in and the temperature began to fall.

"Well this has been most interesting, it was good to meet you Zanleya," Gethen said. "But I must go and rest, my master still has much work for me to do."  
"The pleasure was mine, my Lady," Zanleya replied respectfully.

"Farewell acolyte, I am sure we will meet again," with that Gethen simply slipped off the edge of the roof, dropping into the darkness, before slowing her fall with the force to land upon the shadow wreathed sands below. Zanleya was left, slightly surprised and alone, on top of the building staring after the intriguing young Lady of the Sith.


	5. First Blood

**First Blood – 3660.285 BY**

The acolytes were assembled in one of the many vaulted chambers in the Academy, eagerly awaiting Overseer Tremel; an animated buzz filled the air. The faces of those gathered displayed a range of emotions, a few looked nervous but the majority wore expressions of barely supressed excitement. Zanleya herself was smiling in anticipation, for Tremel would shortly set them a major trial. He had told them during their last lesson that he would be sending them into the tomb of one of the ancient Dark Lords of the Sith. He had not specified what the trial was to be, but any expedition into one of the ancient labyrinth-like tombs was cause for excitement. To further heighten both the tension and eagerness of those gathered, Lord Claw was present, a dark and brooding human Sith. He had declared that he was looking for a new apprentice and that he would be watching the trials with interest. Everybody knew what that meant, one of them, likely whoever performed the best, would become the apprentice of Lord Claw. It was a priceless prize and one the acolytes dearly coveted. Whilst Lord Claw's patronage was not something Zanleya desired, as she was already committed to Darth Kharvak, it had certainly got the blood of the others up.

Out of the original nineteen acolytes, herself included, fourteen remained. Two had died from injuries sustained during duels in their combat lessons, two others had perished on previous trials set by Tremel. A further couple had met their ends in unfortunate 'accidents', not that anybody believed for a moment that they truly were accidents. A latecomer had also joined their ranks, bringing their number up to fourteen. Discounting herself, Jandra and one of the others, those who already had a master, the remaining eleven were all competing for the attention of Lord Claw. Everybody knew that there would only be one true victor this day and each was determined that it would be them.

Just as it looked like the pent up tension would boil over, the door opened with a hiss and Overseer Tremel arrived. He was clad in his usual attire, light armour that was dark in colour with a lightsaber at his hip. An expectant hush fell over the acolytes as they awaited his announcement.

"As you already know, today I am setting you a trial. You are going to venture into the tomb of Tulak Hord in the valley of the Dark Lords," Tremel announced, he did not bother to mince his words, getting straight to the point. There were a few murmurs from those gathered; Zanleya nodded, a sly smile creeping across her face. She had had the foresight to read up about each of the Sith who lay buried in the valley, in preparation for the trial so had a vague idea of what to expect. "There is a particularly voracious breed of tuk'ata that makes their dwelling within the tomb. I wish you to bring me the tusk of one such beast, stained with the lifeblood of the animal it came from. Don't think that you can hunt any old tuk'ata in the wilds; these ones are saturated with the essence of the dark side as a result of living within the tomb. The tusks are precious ingredients for Sith alchemy and we will know immediately if you try to deceive us," Tremel explained. He did not need to add what the punishment would be for such deception. His gaze swept over the gathered acolytes, as if he was mentally placing bets with himself on who would survive, eyeing up and assessing each of them in turn. "It will not be easy, tuk'ata are vicious beasts, some of you will not return. Further to that outcasts and failed acolytes make their lairs in the tomb, as do many other dangerous creatures. Lord Claw, do you have anything you wish to add?" Tremel asked, turning to the black robed Sith.

"I seek a new apprentice, one worthy enough to be taught the true ways of the dark side. I will be watching this trial closely. If however you truly believe you have the strength that it takes to become Sith, then you will bring me the tusks of the pack alpha," Lord Claw said, his voice was whispery thin, like the rustle of ancient paper.

"There is one more thing that I should inform you of, the tomb lies beyond the boundaries of the Academy and our rules do not hold there. While I do not openly encourage murder, it will not invoke retribution… only the strong will survive," Tremel added. Within the sacred grounds of the Academy acolytes were forbidden from attacking each other. This was not to say that fatal 'accidents' did not occur, but it was a brazen fool indeed who defied one of the few rules the Sith had. Zanleya felt a slight tingle of apprehension run up her spine, she had suspected that that would be the case, but had not been sure if Tremel would outright forbid attacking other acolytes. She saw both Änastasiä and Traz grin wickedly, no doubt planning to take advantage of the absence of rules. "That is all, if you have not returned by this time tomorrow, don't bother returning," Tremel stated. "Go, and remember, peace is a lie."

Zanleya wasted no time in retrieving her vibroblade from the armoury and was soon making her way toward the entrance of the tomb. Ever since her duel with Darth Kharvak she had been practicing with a double bladed weapon and, true to his word, her master had instructed the weapon smiths to make her a double bladed vibrosword. Unlike the traditional design that roughly resembled a lightsaber, hers was slightly shorter and akin to a double bladed lightsaber with a larger grip in the centre. Her weapon lacked the traditional hand guards and accessories, as a standard vibroblade was heavy enough already and turning it into a double bladed weapon only increased the weight. The result was that she lacked the reach of somebody armed with a normal vibroblade and her own weapon was heavier, but it allowed her to fight with it like a double bladed sabre, something she was far better at.

Several of the acolytes had raced off as soon as Tremel had finished speaking, eager to beat the rest of their cohort and be the first there. Zanleya had taken a slightly more leisurely pace; relative to the others the trial held less meaning for her and she was quite content to slip in once the chaos was already underway and claim a trophy. While she had no intention of failing the trial, she was not bothered enough to try and claim Lord Claw's prize. She expected that Änastasiä, Traz, Anral and probably some of the others too, would all be gunning for the alpha beast. She did not intend on getting mixed up in the inevitable skirmish between her fellow acolytes and thus planned to bring down a regular tuk'ata somewhere quiet.

So it was that with a couple of flare sticks in a pocket and another in her hand Zanleya approached the entrance to the tomb. A pair of soldiers clad in red armour stood guard, both of whom came to attention as she approached. Bandits had attempted to plunder a number of the tombs and as a counter measure the Sith had posted guards around some of the entrances.

"How many have already entered?" Zanleya asked curtly. One of the soldiers frowned for a second, counting off on his fingers.

"Eight my Lord," he replied, using the honorific title just to be on the safe side, not that she was a Lord but it paid to be over polite. Zanleya nodded, there were five others yet to enter, she would have to watch her back as well as keep an eye out for trouble ahead. That was all she needed to know; she unscrewed the flare stick, allowing the chemicals within to react and it lit up with a bright glow. She took a deep breath, then plunged through the ancient stone archway and into the tomb itself. This was the first time she had set foot in a tomb of one of the ancient Sith Lords; she had read plenty about them, but up until now had not dared venture inside. She was still practicing her force awareness but even so she could feel the raw power of the dark side, it soaked everything, the very air was thick with it. Tulak Hord, also known as the Lord of Hate, was the one who had conquered Dromund Kaas, the world that was now the capital of the Empire. He had eventually been killed by his apprentice Ortan Cela, although that had been over two millennia ago. Even now, so many years on, the tomb still resonated with the power that Tulak Hord had wielded in life. The air, whilst it smelt musty and felt dry, was almost static with pent up power. As Zanleya crossed the threshold and into the final resting place of the Lord of Hate she felt tiny, like a mere bottle bug crawling upon a monument to one so powerful that hundreds of years later his name was still feared. He was dead though and she was alive she told herself, his days had come and gone and now it was her turn to make a name for herself.

"Peace is a lie, there is only passion," Zanleya uttered, reciting the first line of the Sith code. She descended the steps into the tomb, turned the corner and made her way down the entrance tunnel, the natural light of day fading behind her as she ventured forth. The walls were covered with ancient carvings, depicting the many great and terrible deeds of Tulak Hord.

"Through passion I gain strength," she continued, her fingers resting on the trigger of the vibroblade, ready to fire it up at a moment's notice. The passage branched, tunnels going off to the left and right but she held her course, heading deeper into the tomb.

"Through strength I gain power." The words reassured her, gave her the confidence she needed, although she did keep casting glances backwards lest somebody was following her. The ground under her feet was uneven, the old flagstones cracked and skewed. So far though, she had not heard anything, no crashes of weapons or screams of pain.

"Through power I gain victory," she intoned, pausing at a junction. From her readings she knew that there was a central atrium in the tomb, open to the air and with other chambers leading off from it. She did not want to go that way, the tuk'ata she sought made their lairs within the first section of the tomb. She turned left, relatively confident that right led toward the atrium.

"Through victory my chains are broken." She felt the sneaking suspicion that somebody or something was watching her, the hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end and her force awareness warned her she that was not alone. She spun round, expecting to see a charging acolyte, but there was nobody.

"The force shall free me!" She finished, reciting the last line of the code. Her fingers sparked with power; she was yet to master force lightning, but it was coming. She turned back round, the flare stick held high in her left hand, illuminating the gloomy interior of the tomb. Her eyes fell on a collection of bleached bones to the side of the passage and a satisfied smile took shape, she was going the right way.

A shrill and piercing cry sounded from around the corner ahead of her and she instinctively triggered her weapon. The ultrasonic generator within the hilt fired up causing the edges of the blades to vibrate at an incredible speed. A single strike from it could tear open a gaping wound, not that she had actually struck a sentient being with it yet, excluding the odd k'lor'slug, although those hardly counted as sentient beings. She ducked to the side of the passageway, her arm brushing the carved side of a primeval statue. She checked both ways but could see nobody else, there was no glow of light either, so if somebody was following her then they were creeping about in the dark. She hesitated, knowing that whatever had caused the cry would still be there. Gripping her weapon tightly she crept forward and rounded the corner.

Before her lay an open chamber, the roof supported by four giant statutes, each with their heads bowed and hands raised to the ceiling. The chamber was circular in shape with a giant block of stone on the opposite wall, upon which a great plethora of ancient runes were carved. The ceiling had crumbled in a few places, littering the ground with rumble but the room was otherwise in quite good condition. It was lit by a dropped flare stick that cast sharp shadows across the walls. However, it was not the architecture that held Zanleya's attention, it was the chambers occupants.

Änastasiä was there clad, as she often was, in her white robes. Her red hair was held up with a trio of pins and her arms were wrapped in what looked like white bandages. Her robes were slim fitting and her shoulders bare, she would not have looked out of place at the side of a Moff at a formal event in Kaas City. At least, she would not have looked out of place had it not been for the wild and savage look in her eyes and the vicious grin that split her face. She was advancing menacingly upon a fallen acolyte, Zanleya recognised the victim as the yellow skinned twi'lek. The acolyte had her hands feebly raised in front of her, as if they could somehow stop Änastasiä. Over the course of the past couple of years, since she had joined the acolytes in proper training, Zanleya had learnt a fair deal about her peers. Änastasiä had proven to be the least predictable of all of them, with provocation she was liable to fly into a rage and crush anything around her with devastating force blasts. So she had heard, one unlucky overseer by the name of Nagal had discovered this to his misfortune on the day Änastasiä arrived at the Academy. All in all though, Änastasiä was not somebody that she wished to tangle with.

The volatile and white clad acolyte turned to the entrance as Zanleya rounded the corner, the light of the flare stick attracting her attention.

"Zanleya! Help me!" The twi'lek cried out in terror and desperation. Zanleya noticed a fallen tuk'ata against one wall, a steadily spreading pool of blood around it; clearly one of the two had felled the beast and claimed the prize. Although by the looks of things it would be Änastasiä who was walking away with the tusks. Zanleya dropped her flare stick and readjusted the grip on her weapon, but made no move forward.

"I see no reason to," she stated simply.

"Please! I'll pay you back! I'll do anything for you!" The twi'lek begged, her fear was almost palpable.

"Why would I want the help of one who can't even defend herself?" Zanleya retorted, knowing that she was condemning the twi'lek to death. "I have no quarrel with Änastasiä."

"But that doesn't mean I'm not going to kill you too," Änastasiä said, her voice sounding far too sweet to be delivering such a threat.

"Why would you try to do that? I haven't got a tusk and I don't plan on taking yours," Zanleya asked; the knot of concern in her stomach tightened.

"Because it will be fun!" Änastasiä responded, lashing out with an outstretched hand. Zanleya had been ready for the attack; she held her left hand out, forming a force barrier to deflect the blast. She succeeded in preventing herself from being crushed like an insect, but the sheer force of the blow overwhelmed her defence and shoved her backward. She stumbled and fell, although managed to flick her vibroblade off, so that she did not slice herself apart on her own weapon. Änastasiä cackled with wicked glee as Zanleya tumbled.

This was life or death Zanleya realised, this was no longer about finding a tusk and proving herself to Darth Kharvak, this was now about survival. She leapt to her feet, firing her blade up once more and sprinted across the chamber, aiming to close the distance between herself and the insane acolyte. She knew from the past couple of years that Änastasiä, while unnaturally strong with the force, was not such a proficient duellist. If she could get into melee combat then she was confident she could take her down. Änastasiä clearly knew this as well and was determined to stop her opponent from getting there. The white clad Sith unleashed another devastating force blast. Zanleya had no time to block it this time, instead throwing herself to the ground and attempting to roll so as not to be thrown across the room.

Had she been a couple of milliseconds late she would likely have been pulped, as it was though she dodged the majority of the blast. She landed heavily, winding herself in the process as she struck the flagstones of the chambers floor. She rolled with the impact and hastily pulled herself up onto all fours. Änastasiä had both hands raised and was lifting a segment of fallen stone into the air. Zanleya struck out with the force, shoving the chunk of rock toward Änastasiä, who waved a hand in response and sent it hurtling against one wall of the chamber, where it exploded into a thousand fragments.

Zanleya leapt to her feet again, blade once more humming. There was a shout of anger and with a battle cry the yellow twi'lek, forgotten in the brief skirmish, leapt at Änastasiä. The white clad acolyte reacted with phenomenal speed, whipping round she flung both hands up. The twi'lek, who was mid-air, was hurled upward by the force. She smashed against the ceiling in a brutal impact and Zanleya could quite distinctively hear several bones break. The unfortunate acolyte fell back to the floor with another crash and a howl of pain, the vibrosword falling from her broken hand. Änastasiä used the force to sweep the weapon up and with a savage cry of joy plunged it into the back of the twi'lek. The doomed acolyte gasped a final choking cry of pain, then lay still.

"Is it not the most perfect experience?" Änastasiä asked, as if it were a rhetorical question, pulling the now blood covered blade free. Zanleya, shocked by the suddenness and ruthlessness of the whole episode, was speechless.

"Taking the life of one weaker than you, it's sublime," Änastasiä said with obvious delight, a euphoric smile upon her face as if she had just eaten the most delectable treat.

"We don't have to fight!" Zanleya cried out, desperately hoping that she could make the maniac see sense. "I don't want to kill you!" In truth she was even more concerned about her own chances of survival.

"Kill me? You can't do that… you've… you've not even taken somebodies life yet have you?" Änastasiä queried, the realisation dawning upon her with the shock you would expect if somebody had just said that her parents had died.

"Not yet," Zanleya retorted menacingly, readying herself to either charge Änastasiä or deflect another force blast.

"Oh you poor girl, how can you be Sith if you haven't killed?" Änastasiä asked with what was almost pity. Zanleya had known all along that becoming Sith would lead her down the path to the dark side and that along the way she would have to slay those who opposed her. Whenever the thought of having to kill had crossed her mind she had pushed it aside, not wanting to contemplate it. She knew it was inevitable, but it was something she had been avoiding. Unlike some of the other acolytes, those who occasionally struck down slaves for amusement, or those who had slain fellow acolytes, she was yet to take a life. It would be the final act, the point of no return, the moment at which she finally and completely committed herself to becoming a Sith. Ever since Darth Kharvak had rescued her she had never questioned the path she was on, she had known from that moment forth that her destiny was to become a Sith or die trying. It seemed though that the moment of truth was fast approaching.

"I will kill, and the first blood I spill will be yours if I ha…" Zanleya was however cut short.

"There they are! Help me bring these two down and I swear I will see you redeemed!" Änastasiä and Zanleya both turned to the chambers entrance, one of the other acolytes, Frendric was there with a trio of what were obviously outcasts, their robes tattered and torn. Without hesitation the four newcomers fired up their vibroblades and ran toward the two girls. Änastasiä and Zanleya paused, then looked at each other and nodded, firing up their own weapons, the time had come.

Frendric and one of the outcasts ran at her, the other two charged Änastasiä. Zanleya adopted a fighting stance and held her vibrosword at the ready, preparing to meet the assault. There was a cry and out of the corner of her eye she saw something fly across the chamber, but had no time to ascertain what had happened.

Frendric slowed slightly, letting the outcast reach her first. In the split second before he got in range Zanleya analysed him, looking carefully at how he held his weapon. She swung one end of her vibrosword up, correctly predicting that the outcast would aim for her chest. There was a clash of metal on metal and a whine that set teeth on edge as the ultrasonic weapons struck. She then brought the other end of her blade round, aiming to cut the failed acolyte in two. He parried the strike and took a step back. Frendric joined the fight, attacking from the other side.

Within moments the three combatants were lost in a swirling melee, blades flicking and flashing. She was angry that she had allowed herself to be ambushed, but equally angry with Frendric for using such foul tactics as recruiting help, implying he could not fight alone. She focused on her anger, letting it give her strength. Zanleya danced round, parrying strikes from both of them, the dual attack demanding every bit of her concentration. She did not have time to check on Änastasiä, but guessed that she was occupied with the other outcasts.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl where she existed in a world purely of clashing blades and rapid parrying. Then Frendric stepped back and jabbed his hand toward her. She was far too focused on the outcast to be able to deflect the force attack. However Frendric's force prowess was not terribly impressive and the blast only staggered her, it did however get him out of the fight.

Zanleya spun her vibrosword in front of herself, deflecting a flurry of strikes from the outcast. He was not a proficient duellist, or if he had been then his exile in the tomb had dulled his skills. She did not struggle to block his clumsy attacks, even after being staggered by Frendric. In retaliation she swiped left then right in rapid succession, forcing the acolyte back.

With the moment of breathing space she had created she glanced round. Frendric was gone, instead of charging back at her he had withdrawn from the fight and was aiming for Änastasiä. Zanleya's white clad ally of convenience was struggling to keep her adversary at bay, the red zabrak giving her a hard time. Frendric was approaching Änastasiä, clearly planning to cut her down whilst she was busy with her opponent. The third outcast was crumpled by the wall, presumably a victim of one of Änastasiä's infamous force blasts.

"Änastasiä, look out!" Zanleya warned. She reached out with the force, picking up dirt and dust from the floor and flung it toward her foe. The outcast cried out, raising a hand to shield his face. Whilst he was distracted Zanleya ran to intercept Frendric. There could be no hesitation, she had to fight without mercy. Given a chance Frendric would kill Änastasiä and she knew she could not take on all three acolytes at once, she had to protect her.

She leapt for Frendric, at the last moment he spotted her and ducked, then hastily parried her back strike. Frendric stumbled, desperately trying to regain his balance. Zanleya did not let up, pressing her attack. She sliced at him with one end of her weapon, knocking Frendric's vibroblade aside, then slashed down with the other end. He was not prepared for the second attack and the blow struck his fingers. He screamed as the blade bit through flesh, severing the fingers on his right hand in a spurt of crimson blood. The vibroblade fell from his mutilated hand and he dropped to his knees in pain, his left hand clasped over the ruined stumps of his fingers. Zanleya simultaneously felt both exhilaration and horror; she had beaten him, but also maimed him horribly. She spun round and just in time, the other outcast she had been duelling was running at her. He faltered though as she turned, her grey robes now covered in blood and her eyes alight.

There was another cry and the zabrak who had been duelling Änastasiä went down. Frendric's scream had distracted him and the moment of lost concentration cost him his life. Änastasiä ran him through, wrenching her blade free with a joyous cry.

The acolyte who had been about to attack Zanleya wavered, seeing that all three of his companions had fallen, his morale broke, he turned and ran. Änastasiä did not give him the chance; she used the force to lift a segment of rock into the air then sent it hurtling at the fleeing outcast. The failed acolyte gave a panicked look back and was just in time to take the rock to his face. The result was both messy and fatal.

"Beautiful! Such sweet victory!" Änastasiä declared in triumph. Like Zanleya her white robes were stained with blood and her eyes ablaze with manic light. Zanleya was breathing hard, the exertion of the last few minutes catching up on her. She felt incredible though, elated by their victory, adrenaline was still rushing through her blood and her heart pounded. Änastasiä's predatory gaze fell on Frendric, who was mewling on the floor, clutching his ruined hand.

"Ohh Zan, how good of you! You left us one to play with!" She crooned with glee.

"Not intentionally," Zanleya remarked, turning her attention back to Frendric.

"It's so much more fun when they're helpless!" Änastasiä said with sadistic delight. Zanleya noticed that the psychotic acolyte had a cut on her upper arm and another on her thigh. If she was in pain though she was hiding it well, Zanleya mused. She kept her blade humming, ready to attack Änastasiä should she try to kill her again now that the immediate threat was gone.

"Don't worry, I don't want to kill you, you're more fun alive now!" Änastasiä said, sensing Zanleya's caution. "Come on, there's more entertainment to be had!"

"I… let me… live," Frendric pleaded, looking up imploringly at the two blood stained acolytes.

"Don't be silly, you're going to die! Kill him Zanleya!" Änastasiä instructed. Frendric thrust his uninjured hand out, but he could not focus and nothing happened; Änastasiä laughed mockingly at his feeble attempt. Zanleya took a step forward, eyeing the injured acolyte with contempt. He had tried to kill her, this was what he deserved. Still she hesitated.

"Ohh come on, it's time you accepted your destiny!" Änastasiä coaxed, although she did not sound impatient. She was enjoying it, Zanleya realised, Änastasiä was relishing her internal conflict and Frendric's terror as she deliberated over ending his life. Zanleya knew that the insane acolyte spoke the truth, there was no way she could walk away and leave him alive, to do so would make her appear weak in the eyes of all those at the Academy. She did want to kill, she wanted to kill Jedi, she wanted to kill Bragga the Hutt and the Hutt's minions. She wanted revenge and she wanted to be Sith; this was what she had to do. But she knew that to kill him would be to turn her back completely on her old life. Then again, what had her old life really been? She had slaved away for Bragga for years; she had been cast aside by a cruel galaxy. She was not finished though, she had survived, she had escaped and now she would be the one who directed her fate. She would shape her future and anybody who tried to stop her would perish. A slow smile spread across her face.

"You tried to kill me," she pronounced vindictively. Frendric knew this was the end and he scrabbled away, trying to get to his feet to run. Änastasiä stopped him, crushing him down with the force. "I am going to be Sith and nobody is going to stop me," Zanleya stated with determination.

She advanced on Frendric, vibrosword humming, whining as if it were eager for blood.

"Yes, do it!" Änastasiä encouraged gleefully. Zanleya licked her lips and narrowed her eyes. Frendric feebly raised his left arm, a futile gesture. Zanleya slashed down, her vibrosword slicing through his raised hand and then into his throat. He fell forward making a sickening gurgling noise as the life ebbed from his body. The body hit the floor and after a long pause Zanleya deactivated her weapon.

"Ohh magnificent! How does it feel?" Änastasiä asked eagerly.

"I feel… alive, like… I can feel the force… the strength of the dark side," Zanleya replied. Every sense tingled, a flood of sensations overwhelming her, all melded together, feelings of power, domination, hope, excitement. The strength of her emotions was almost tangible, as if all she needed to do was reach out and tap into them and a whole new world of power would be hers.

"It's incredible isn't it?" Änastasiä said with a wicked smile. "You're one step closer to becoming Sith."

"Yes," Zanleya agreed, she could not argue with that, she was committed now. She gazed round the chamber, now littered with bodies, the three outcasts, Frendric, the yellow twi'lek and the tuk'ata. "I better get a tusk," she stated, although after all that had happened she doubted hunting a tuk'ata would be much of an issue.

"No need," Änastasiä said, she pulled a blood-stained tusk from her pocket. "Take this, tuk'ata have two tusks, Tremel only asked for one. You've given me a lot of amusement, so you've earned it," Änastasiä offered, holding it out. Zanleya hesitated, wondering if it was a trap, but saw that the murderous acolyte was being genuine.

"Thank you," Zanleya said unsteadily, taking the proffered item, her emotions still running wild after the last few intense minutes.

"I might have struggled to kill them all without you," Änastasiä admitted.

"Likewise," Zanleya confessed. In truth both of them knew that without the other they would have died, but neither was willing to honestly admit their vulnerability to the other. It was not a bond of friendship, but the mutual acceptance that they were allies.

"Remember this day, they won't all be this good," Änastasiä said, waving a hand to Frendric's corpse. Zanleya nodded; she retrieved her flare stick from the chambers entrance and looked back. She was slightly relieved to see that Änastasiä was not following her.

"Are you staying to find the alpha beast?" Zanleya asked.

"Yes, there's more fun to be had yet, although I doubt it'll be as good as that which we've had."

Zanleya simply nodded, whilst she was glad Änastasiä had been there to help her, she was equally glad to be out of her presence. Slowly she retraced her steps, heading for the tombs exit. She knew that she was not going to be leaving the tomb as the same girl who had entered. But she had been successful and she was closer to fulfilling her destiny and becoming Sith.


	6. Emotions

**Emotions – 3660.285 BY**

Zanlyea sat on the edge of her bunk staring blankly at the plain wall in front of her, mind lost in a myriad of swirling thoughts. The young acolyte was still clad in her blood splattered robes, the stains now rusty brown. She felt strange, as if she was undergoing some kind of metamorphism from who she had been to somebody new. Every time she closed her eyes she could see her vibrosword tearing through Frendric's throat and she could still hear his last choking cry ringing in her ears. But she did not feel remorse, there was no guilt and that in itself was puzzling her; she felt as if she should feel culpable, that her actions ought to be haunting her. There was nothing though. All she could feel was the fading effects of her sudden connection to the dark side. She had expected that she would be staring at her hands, questioning what she had done, instead they were just resting on her knees. She had taken somebody's life, snuffed out the light of a living being. In the end it had been easy, a simple downwards slash similar to those she had practiced countless times. He had deserved it, she reasoned, had their positions been reversed he would have killed her without a moment's hesitation.

A chime from the intercom interrupted her brooding.

"Your master wishes to see you," a timorous voice said. Zanleya turned her head to the door and waved her hand, activating it with the force. It slid open to reveal a male green skinned twi'lek with his head bowed, clad in the garb of a slave.

"What did he say?" Zanleya inquired, getting to her feet.

"Just that," the slave replied, not lifting his gaze.

"Very well," she stated simply. She crossed the small space that she called her home, past her sparse decorations. There were a couple of ancient scrolls on her desk, a claw of the first k'lor'slug she had killed hung by the narrow window. Her old golden orange dress was pinned to the wall, to constantly remind her of her past and fuel her hate. She swept past her meagre trappings though and headed for Darth Kharvak's chambers.

She expected he wanted to comment on her performance in the tomb, perhaps reprimand her for not going after the alpha beast. As she well knew though speculation was all but pointless where Darth Kharvak was concerned, she could rarely second guess him.

It did not take many minutes before she was standing outside his chambers, still looking dishevelled and dirty from her morning in the tomb. The door slid open granting her entry to Kharvak's sanctum. He was seated for once, sat in his high backed chair with an ancient tome upon the desk in front of him. He closed the weighty book as she entered, turning his full attention to her. Zanleya noticed that his face seemed less stern than usual, something she thought was strange; his almost brooding and aloof expression was softer.

"You did well today my apprentice," Darth Kharvak stated, he leant forward and almost smiled at her. Zanleya did not outwardly display surprise, but she felt it, he scarcely ever called her his apprentice. He would normally only give her commands, never acknowledging their relationship.

"Thank you, master," she replied, quickly regaining her composure. She walked to the centre of the chamber and adopted her customary position, kneeling with her hands in her lap. She could easily see Kharvak over his desk and he could deliver his lessons from the comfort of his chair, not that he usually did as he would commonly pace around.

"I heard that you were smart enough not to chase after Lord Claw's prize," Kharvak remarked.

"Indeed master, I thought there would be too many others going for it. I didn't wish to get stabbed in the back," she said, relieved that he was applauding her for not going for the alpha beast rather than condemning her. She had learnt long ago to be honest with Kharvak. From painful experience she had come to the conclusion that he could sense even the tiniest smudging of the truth or the smallest omitted fact.

"A wise decision. Too many are swayed by promises of grand rewards and run blindly forward like a charging rancor. Several of your fellow acolytes made this mistake and paid with their lives," Kharvak replied. "You were right not to chase it; you do not need to impress me with deeds of reckless courage. I want to see you think for yourself, act for your own benefit and further your personal aims, which you did," he commended.

Zanleya nodded, she was grateful in a way that Kharvak was her master and not somebody like Darth Thanaton. Kharvak could be harsh and unforgiving, but, providing she could explain her actions and justify them, he did not punish failure or underhand tactics. Whereas another Darth might punish their acolyte for not following instructions to the letter, Kharvak would be lenient if he could see that she was taking initiative. This was not to say he had not punished her before. More than once she had been scraped off the floor by a meddroid after he had chastised her for failure to pay attention or for poor performance. However as with her current situation he was not angry that she had gone for the easy way out of the trial instead of hunting the grand prize.

"I also hear that you fought and killed another acolyte," he stated.

"Yes master. He attacked me along with a trio of outcasts. Änastasiä was there and together we beat them," she affirmed. She did not bother to ask how he knew what had happened, she had just come to accept that her master had eyes and ears everywhere.

"Frendric was a fool and deserved what he got. One does not move against a powerful opponent until certain of victory, to do otherwise is foolish. If you do not believe you can beat an enemy in a duel, you stab them in the back. If you do not believe you can sneak up on them to stab them, you hit them with a bomb. If you do not believe you can bomb them, you find a way to make peace with them until you are better equipped to bring them down. Frendric should have known you were the better duellist and not have attacked you. He was therefore not worthy to become Sith and you did our kind a service by removing him from the Academy," Kharvak said. Zanleya nodded, it was a lesson she had heard before. Darth Kharvak, despite outward appearances, did not fight with honour. He was a firm believer that the only victor was the one still standing and that no tactic was too foul.

"I would not have survived without Änastasiä," Zanleya admitted, her eyes downcast. "His tactic of recruiting help would have worked had she not been there."

"And it was stupid of him to attack you both," Kharvak countered.

"That is true," Zanleya agreed.

"Nonetheless, what matters is that you stand before me and he does not," Kharvak said. "You killed today, tell me what happened, describe it. I want to hear the words from your lips." Zanleya proceeded to narrate the events of the morning, relating as best she could how Frendric had met his end.

"What gave you strength? From what did you draw power?" Kharvak queried.

"What do you mean master?" Zanleya said apologetically.

"What emotion was it, was it hate? Anger?" Kharvak clarified. Zanleya was relieved at his patience, he was in a good mood.

"Anger I guess and the will to stay alive," she replied.

"And when you struck him down?"

"I killed him in wrath and with the determination to become Sith," she answered, the moment still crystal clear in her mind.

"Good, through passion I gain strength. This is why we will triumph over the pathetic Jedi, they try to fight without emotion and it makes them weak. Passion gives us strength, it lets us connect to and harness the force, control it and bend it to our will. Fighting with anger makes us strong, it fuels us," Kharvak lectured.

"Yes master, I have no shortage of sources of anger." She had only to think of her father and her face would twist into a snarl and her hands clench into fists.

"Good, but remember that anger is not the only source of our strength," Kharvak stated. Zanleya frowned slightly, it was not a lesson she was familiar with. She did not interrupt him though, as she was curious to see where his line of logic was going. "Passion is not restricted to anger and hate, during a battle they are emotions that are easy to draw on. It is easy to hate your enemy or to be angry at the circumstances that led you to the fight. But sometimes other emotions are better. Passion covers joy, love, happiness… anything that you feel passionately about," Kharvak explained. Zanleya paused, she had never heard of the concept of a Sith drawing on love to power them, it sounded absurd.

"Speak," Kharvak stated, seeing that she had a protest building.

"How does that work master? How can love give you strength?"

"In much the same way as hate, the height and strength of your emotions fuels your power. If you feel you are fighting to defend one you love, or fighting on their behalf it gives you strength. The same can be said of joy or happiness. Anger is certainly easier, but equally you can be blinded by hate and anger and this can lead to making poor or foolish decisions," Kharvak explained.

"I don't love though. My mother is dead, I hate my father and I don't have any interest in guys," Zanleya objected fiercely; Kharvak forgave her interruption.

"This is theoretical knowledge my apprentice. I am merely informing you of ways to fight. The style you adopt and how you choose to strengthen yourself is up to you," Kharvak said. "The majority of Sith fight with anger or hate, but it is not the only way… you have more questions?"

"Yes master. How would I draw on joy in a battle? Surely I'm not going to be happy if I'm fighting for my life?" Zanleya asked, completely baffled by what she was hearing.

"True, but you are fighting because you want to be happy. Perhaps you are fighting because you want to see the smile on your daughter's face again or fighting for the good times you have enjoyed and still wish to enjoy. These emotions or memories are what you are passionate about and it is these that give you strength," Kharvak replied.

"Then how is that different from the wretched Jedi? Surely they fight for their order or something they are passionate about?" Zanleya queried.

"No, they believe that there is no emotion, that they should fight with a clear and empty mind to better allow themselves to become vessels for the force… and that is why they are weaker than us."

"I still don't understand how you could focus on joy, how in all the 'verse does that make you powerful?" Zanleya said, still at a loss.

"Perhaps you have not experienced a moment of great enough joy to draw upon," Kharvak countered. Zanleya opened her mouth to object, then stopped. She tried to remember when she had last felt truly joyful; she could think of plenty of times she had been elated by success, victory or triumph. But a joyful memory was harder to recall, nothing sprang to mind, her fond childhood memories were all tarnished by the shadow of her father and Bragga. She pursed her lips, then gave a distinctly un-lady-like snarl.

"I don't need joy to be powerful," she declared, one corner of Kharvak's mouth twitched up into a smile. "But I can take joy from becoming powerful!"

"As I said, everyone must find their own source of strength, their own passion. It is just wise that you know all the options," Kharvak stated.

"Ma…" she stopped herself.

"Ask your question," Kharvak said, giving her permission to continue.

"Master, if it's not impertinent to ask, where do you draw your strength from?" Zanleya asked, genuinely curious. Whenever she had seen her master fight he had always seemed calm. Unlike Traz he fought with an expression of almost grim determination, not a snarling rabid one. Kharvak did not respond immediately and Zanleya flinched, thinking that she might have crossed a line.

"Patriotism, my desire to glorify and strengthen the Empire. In striking down my foes I tighten the grip of the Empire on the galaxy and bring us one step closer to total domination," Kharvak replied. "Sometimes anger powers me, but more often it is my passion to see our Empire rise that gives me strength." Zanleya blinked at him for a moment, slightly taken aback by his answer. It had never occurred to her before that somebody could feel so strongly patriotic that it gave them strength. She had always suspected that Kharvak had strong feelings toward the Empire, the mere fact he wore the insignia upon his armour was proof enough of that. But what she had not realised was quite how deep the feeling ran. In all honesty she was quite indifferent toward the Empire, having had precious little to do with it save from train upon one of its worlds.

"Oh, I didn't realise…" Zanleya responded in surprise, tailing off.

"How much it meant to me?" Kharvak said, filling in the gap for her.

"Well… yes," she admitted.

"It is my firm belief that the Sith should serve the Empire, we are the leaders, the elites, the shock troops. While many Sith do not behave like this, it is how I believe they should. Being Sith is about more than being angry, killing Jedi and seeking personal power. Whilst the latter two are admirable goals, they are not all that matters. We fight for the Empire, to unite the galaxy under one great rule and to crush the weak and narrow minded Republic. Being angry is senseless without somewhere to direct that anger. Killing Jedi is useless if you do not do it with a purpose and seeking power is empty if you do not use it for something greater. That is why I strive to further the goals of the Empire and to destroy those who oppose us. Only when every world kneels before us will our work truly be done. Never forget the big picture my apprentice," Kharvak went on. Zanleya paused, uncertain for once, she had always believed that power was the aim of being Sith, simply the acquisition and use of it. That was the impression she had gained from reading about the ancient Sith Lords.

"How can I fight for an Empire I know so little about?" Zanleya asked.

"I will show you apprentice. Soon I shall take you to see our home world, Dromund Kaas, and you will witness the glory of the Empire. For now though you must finish your training. You have done well this day. Go; meditate on what I have taught you and what it means to you to be Sith."


	7. Love's Curse

**Love's Curse – 3660.286 BY**

Zanleya cast her gaze round the cantina, looking for somewhere to sit where she could be as isolated as possible. Selecting a table in the middle with only a single blue haired occupant, she carried her tray over and plonked herself down. Her class of acolytes had been given a couple of days of rest after the trial in the tomb of Tulak Hord and it was the evening of the first day. Kharavk had spoken to her again, teaching her more on the history of Tulak Hord, other than that though she had not done much. Lessons would resume soon but for now she was settling down for some food and a relatively quiet evening. The only other occupant of the bench she was sat at was a human female and was ignoring her, something that suited Zanleya just fine.

The cantina was filled with a wide array of exotic smells, the scents of alien food mixed with spices and sauces from the length and breadth of the Empire. A great array of dishes had been prepared, as they usually were, to give the varying Sith who ate there something to suit their personal tastes. While the majority of those present, and in the Academy as a whole, were human, there were a number of aliens and force sensitives from the slave races. As a result the cantina was set up to cater to the tastes of purebloods, zabraks, twi'leks and a host of other less easily recognisable species as well as humans. Despite this variety Zanleya had not been terribly adventurous in her choice of meal. She had never eaten well in the past, as she had been born in one of the poorer districts on Nar Shaddaa and then having lived as a slave for so many years. So she had settled for simple food, hot gorak wings with flatbread. It was technically possible, so she had been told at least, to order whatever one liked and the slaves who worked the kitchens would prepare it. Although she imagined such a privilege was probably only really applicable to the dining halls of the Darths in the upper levels of the Academy. She was in one of the lower level cantinas, one of the designated eating areas for acolytes and young apprentices. Nevertheless such issues of status did not really bother her, food was food and that was all she was concerned with.

Along with the vast range of bizarre smells the room was filled with an animated buzz of conversation giving it a lively ambiance. The hall was quite sizeable and could easily seat a hundred people and at least half of those seats were taken. Every now and then she caught snatches of conversation, of inductees discussing their trials or relating tales of their misadventures or conquests. Cantinas and bars were the locations frequented by acolytes in their downtime, if they chose to indulge themselves such. They were one of the few places people could go to relax… at least, relax as much as a trainee Sith could. Zanleya however never lingered in the either, if she was not training then she would be reading and if she was not reading she would prowl the grounds of the Academy or explore the wilds around it.

She was halfway through her food when her force precognition warned her of imminent and approaching danger. Instinctively she leapt up and turned round, knowing intuitively that the threat would be approaching from behind. She did not question nor doubt her senses for a second. She was just in time to see a grey clad human acolyte come striding toward her before she felt her throat constrict. The attack took her almost completely by surprise. The acolyte had her left hand held out as if it were clasped around somebodies neck. Zanleya was lifted half a metre into the air, her hands scrabbling at her throat as she desperately tried to breathe.

"You'll pay for what you've done!" The acolyte screeched, her voice breaking the otherwise relaxed atmosphere. Her expression was livid, blonde braided hair almost seeming to writhe with the same anger she possessed. Her blue eyes were filled with nothing but hate and she was glaring at Zanleya with burning fury. Zanleya gave a choked cry as she tried to free herself from the force grip, but to no avail.

"This is for him!" The acolyte ranted, stopping a couple of metres away from her, hand still held out. Zanleya's vision began to fog over as she was starved of oxygen. Desperately she lashed out with her foot, kicking the stool she had been sitting on toward the acolyte. It was not exactly the most elegant attack nor the most effective, but the second of distraction it caused her opponent allowed her to break free from the force choke. She fell to the polished floor with a crash, landing on all fours and gasping for air. She knew she did not have time to recover though; she rolled over to face the acolyte ready to use the force to try and push her away.

"I'm going to kill you!" Her aggressor shrieked, taking a step forward, just then though she froze and was herself lifted into the air.

"That's enough of that," a commanding female voice spoke from somewhere behind Zanleya. She gulped in another couple of deep breaths and shakily got to her feet; the blue haired Sith who had been sat at her bench was on her feet and had her hand held out. Her attacker was frozen in mid-air, as if held in stasis, although not frozen enough to stop her from snarling in pure rage.

The blue haired Sith unclipped one of the lightsabers from her belt, walked round to stand in front of the blonde acolyte then released her from the force grip. The livid acolyte was dropped back to her feet and was about to lunge at Zanleya, but on seeing the lightsaber held her ground.

"Give me your name acolyte, then tell me what this is about?" The blue haired Sith demanded, pointing her unignited lightsaber at the blonde girl. "Because you realise of course acolytes are not allowed to attack each other within the Academy." Zanleya had just about got her breath back and was trying to regain her composure. Her heart was still beating badly and her hands were shaking slightly from the suddenness of the attack.

"This filth killed Frendric!" The acolyte retorted, as if that was somehow justification for her actions. The room had fallen silent and when Zanleya glanced round she could see that everyone had turned their attention to the trio in the middle of the room. Most of the other acolytes were on their feet, ready for a fight. She spotted the distinctive white robes of Änastasiä and could see the hungry expression on her face, Zanleya guessed she was eagerly awaiting further violence. She also had a creeping suspicion that she knew what the whole encounter was about.

"Your name acolyte," the blue haired Sith repeated coldly.

"Jensine," the acolyte answered, her eyes boring into Zanleya. Jensine was clad in simple grey robes, those commonly worn by acolytes and she looked to be either in her late teens or early twenties. Zanleya did not recognise her, although guessed that she must be from one of the other groups of acolytes who had begun training around the time that she had.

"Who is, or rather was, Frendric?" The Sith asked.

"My lover!" Jensine retorted. A cruel smile played about Zanleya's lips, she had guessed correctly.

"Is what Jensine said true, did you kill him?" The blue haired Sith asked, turning to Zanleya.

"Yes. He was an acolyte in my group. He attacked me in the tomb of Tulak Hord a couple of days ago during a trial… I cut him down," Zanleya replied, giving Jensine a wicked smile as she replied.

"Aghhh! Murderer!" Jensine spat leaping forward. The Sith ignited her lightsaber in a heartbeat and the crackling red blade appeared between the two acolytes causing Jensine to pull up short. The blade flickered in a strange way that Zanleya had not seen before, as if it was somehow unstable, however the lightsabers composition was not her primary concern.

"It's not murder if it's beyond the perimeter of the Academy, it's merely survival of the fittest," the Sith stated, although not cruelly.

"She has to pay!" Jensine cried out, although her anger was gone, like a storm that had spent its energy. She was on the verge of tears it seemed, clearly distraught by Frendric's death.

"For what crime?" The Sith asked, lowering her lightsaber.

"For… for… taking away the man I loved!" Jensine replied, floundering at first and sounding more like a distraught child than a vengeful Sith acolyte.

"He tried to kill me, but he was weak and got what he deserved," Zanleya shot back with malign intent. She was taking a perverse pleasure from witnessing Jensine's anguish.

"Silence acolyte!" The Sith snapped, rounding on Zanleya.

"Use that hate Jensine, let it fuel you, let it make you strong. But know that this is not the place for it; death is the penalty for attacking an acolyte within the Academy but I will see that you are forgiven this once. Save your hatred for the trials and the duelling pits," the Sith said to placate the distressed acolyte.

"Mark my words Zanleya, I will kill you," Jensine hissed, looking directly at her. Zanleya just scowled back at her.

"You there, acolyte, escort Jensine to Overseer Tremel and explain what has happened here," the Sith said, pointing at a bystander.

"Why should I?" He shot back, folding his arms defiantly.

"Because, little worm, I am Lady Cåssie, apprentice of Darth Tharmin and I tell you to!" Cåssie ordered with an authoritative tone. The acolyte quailed under her gaze and slunk forward his ears already burning red with embarrassment. Acolytes had to follow the orders of their superiors, especially when those superiors had a connection to a Darth.

"Go Jensine; I don't want to hear anything further about you violating our rules, and if I do I will personally carry out your execution," Lady Cåssie snapped. Jensine lowered her gaze and was escorted from the cantina, although not without throwing a last hateful look at Zanleya.

"And you Zanleya, come with me, I wish to talk to you," Lord Cåssie ordered. Obediently Zanleya followed the Lady, leaving her half eaten food behind. Slowly conversation returned to the cantina as everybody else resumed eating their dinners. Now that she had reason to, Zanleya studied the Sith. Cåssie was a bit taller than herself with deep blue hair that fell past her shoulders in curls, both down her back and over her chest. She was clad in grey undergarments with a black armoured chest piece over the top. Cåssie looked quite young, although older than herself, but as Zanleya was only seventeen galactic standard years old that was to be expected.

Cåssie led her out of the cantina via a side door, along a corridor then through another door that led to a balcony. The balcony overlooked one of the training grounds and Zanleya could see a group of new acolytes practicing lightsaber drills with staffs in the sand. Cåssie stopped by the balcony and turned to face Zanleya now that they had privacy.

"Was anybody else present when you killed Frendric?" Cåssie asked.

"Well, yes my Lady, another acolyte called Änastasiä, we fought together against him and some failed acolytes he had recruited," Zanleya replied.

"So this Änastasiä saw you kill Frendric?"

"Yes."

"When you struck him down, was he defenceless?" Cåssie inquired.

"Yes, I had severed his fingers, he was helpless," Zanleya replied, the moment still crystal clear in her mind.

"And would this be common knowledge? Would Änastasiä have told your fellow acolytes how Frendric died?"

"Almost certainly, she has a love of fear and violence," Zanleya replied with a wry smile.

"Then Jensine will know how her lover met his end and given what you've said that doesn't bode well for you. You've made yourself an enemy," she stated simply.

"Yes, I suppose I have. I guess I should thank you for intervening though, my Lady."

"It was my duty to do so," Cåssie said. "Besides we would all have been in trouble had an acolyte murdered another in full view of a busy cantina."

"She was a fool to reveal herself," Zanleya remarked. "If she had waited until I was on my own she might have stood a better chance."

"It's good for her that she did though, otherwise had she actually killed or hurt you she would then have been executed in turn," Cåssie said. Zanleya simply shrugged.

"But that's not what happened," she said.

"True. Were you aware of the bond between those two before you killed Frendric?" Cåssie asked.

"No and to tell the truth I was not thinking about Frendric's love life when he tried to kill me," Zanleya remarked sarcastically.

"Love can be a powerful thing," Cåssie said philosophically, staring out over the Academy grounds; Zanleya merely snorted.

"I beg to differ, love makes you weak. It certainly made Jensine weak, she's signed her own death warrant now," Zanleya declared. She had no doubt that she was going to have to kill the errant acolyte, sooner rather than later. She was not sure if Jensine would be so bold as to try and attack her again within the Academy, but she knew that she was going to have to be on her guard. If Jensine did not try that then for certain the next trial they were sent on or the next time she left the Academy she would be after her. All of that simply meant that she would have to kill her first. Now that she knew Jensine was after her blood it would be easier to prepare for her.

"Don't be so sure of yourself acolyte, overconfidence is a weakness and one for which there is little tolerance within the ranks of the Sith," Cåssie countered.

"But I know she wants to kill me now, if she had just tried to stab me in the back next time we were in the wilds she would have stood a better chance. Now I know she's after me and I can kill her first," Zanleya replied. "If she had not been so blinded by anger and loss she would have realised that."

"Then surely what you are saying is that anger makes one weak, not love?" Cåssie argued.

"Well… it was anger because of the loss of love, so in my eyes that still counts as love," Zanleya replied. "Why fall in love if it's only going to lead to pain, anger and stupid decisions?"

"Perhaps because it gives you something to fight for?" Cåssie suggested. Zanleya narrowed her eyes at the Lady.

"…did he set you up for this? Did my master Darth Kharvak tell you to give me this lesson? You sound like you're echoing him," Zanleya demanded, suddenly suspicious. Kharvak's lesson from two days ago was still fresh in her mind, when he had introduced her to the idea of a Sith drawing on love as a source of power.

"No, I did not even know you had a master until now," Cåssie replied evenly.

"Hmm… well, forgive my accusation then my Lady," Zanleya said, remembering her manners.

"Perhaps it's more common than you think," Cåssie said.

"It still seems absurd, especially for a weak acolyte. If you don't have the power to defend your lover then that just makes them a liability and it makes you vulnerable… as has just been shown," Zanleya said. Kharvak had told her that the percentage of fresh acolytes who made it to becoming Sith was small, more than the majority perished during their trials. So the chances of a couple of love struck acolytes both making it through were low indeed.

"I suppose that could be true, but then if your life is to be cut short surely you would want to enjoy it to the full first? We're no Jedi, we're not forbidden to love," Cåssie said.

"I've seen what love can do… I don't want it," Zanleya hissed. Cåssie turned back to her and raised a questioning eyebrow. "I became a slave because a Jedi could not love!" It was a simple fact that she would never forget.

"…And that presumably brought you here? I wouldn't curse your past if it resulted in your training to become Sith."

"That's not the point," Zanleya huffed.

"Refusing to know the warmth love is your loss I suppose," Cåssie said with a shrug. Zanleya frowned at the young Lady.

"You love somebody don't you?" Zanleya said, it was more of a statement than a question. The slight delay in Cåssie's response only confirmed her suspicion.

"Perhaps I do."

"Who?" Zanleya queried.

"You forget your place acolyte," Cåssie snapped. "And I wouldn't tell you, because you don't need to know."

"It's your master isn't it? Darth Tharmin?" Zanleya said, the words springing to her lips unbidden.

"How did you know?!" Cåssie gasped in surprise, her expression one of bewilderment, her confident aura momentarily shattered. A sly smile slid across Zanleya's face.

"The tone of voice you used when you said his name back in the cantina and the way you spoke just now suggested that defending the one you love isn't a problem," Zanleya replied. "You sounded as if you were in awe of him. It was just a guess though."

"You would do well to keep that information to yourself," Cåssie warned menacingly.

"Of course my Lady."

"What we have is special and nobody can take that from us," Cåssie said with resolve.

"Of course," Zanleya repeated. "What did you want to talk to me about? You wanted to speak to me for a reason?"

"I just wanted to know what transpired between you and this Frendric individual so that I could warn you. You may scoff at love because you don't have it, but for those of us who know it, it's powerful. Know that there is nothing I wouldn't do to defend Tharmin and should anything ever happen to him, no force in the galaxy would be able to protect those responsible from my wrath. If Jensine felt for Frendric even a fraction of what I do for Tharmin, you better believe me when I tell you that you are in danger. What she did today was rash and foolish, but you best watch your back from now on because she will come for you. There will be no reasoning with her and nothing will stop her from hunting you. That's all I have to say to you, be on your guard else you will fall victim to the effects of love that you ridicule."


	8. Secrets

**Secrets – 3660.287 BY**

"…And then Naga Sadow carried out his plan, launching a huge attack against the Old Republic. He aimed to take the Koros system and… there is somebody at the door," Kharvak lectured, before breaking off from his teaching. Zanleya automatically turned her head to look over her shoulder. "Interesting, someone has a message that they don't trust technology to deliver…" Kharvak mused, half talking to himself. A few seconds later the intercom chimed, as if the being outside his chambers had been summoning up the courage to bother the Dark Lord of the Sith.

Kharvak waved his gauntleted hand and the door slid open to reveal a young zabrak. She was jittering on the spot, practically bouncing from one foot to the other, her eyes wide and pupils dilated. Kharvak said nothing, simply glaring the slave down from where he stood on the other side of the room. The zabrak gulped a couple of times, then with a timid voice delivered her message.

"Darth Tharmin… wants to see Zanleya," the slave said, her voice quivering like a reed in a gale. Zanleya's eyebrows rose in surprise, she had been fully expecting that whatever the message was, it was for the attention of her master. An alarm bell began to ring in the back of her mind as her brain processed where she had heard that name before. Darth Tharmin was the master of Lady Cåssie, the blue haired Sith she had met in the cantina the other day. As soon as she made the connection she felt her stomach do a flip and her internal body temperature drop, icy dread flourishing in her chest. She knew exactly what this would be about… and it was not going to be a pleasant chat. She turned to look at Kharvak, his expression was unreadable, almost as if he had been expecting that the message was not for him.

"When?" She inquired, turning back to the slave.

"Err… immediately," the slave answered, the fear in her voice was almost palpable and with good reason. Though she spoke with the authority of Darth Tharmin, it was incredibly impertinent for a slave to order a member of the Sith Academy around. Zanleya clenched her fists and the zabrak flinched.

"Is that all?" Zanleya asked, putting on a tone of irritation to hide the fear that she herself felt.

"Yes… my Lords, I'm …err…sorry to interrupt," the slave added, realising that she probably should have said that sooner.

"Go and tell your master she will be along presently," Kharvak replied.

"Yes, yes of course, my Lord," the slave said hastily, bowing low and backing out of the room with the speed of a frightened sand-rat. The door shut behind the messenger and Zanleya turned to her master, she did not bother to hide her trepidation from him, because she knew he would be able to sense it anyway.

"I shall resume your lesson on Naga Sadow later. From your aura of obvious anxiousness you clearly know what this is about," Darth Kharvak stated. "Explain."

"I err… well I met his apprentice yesterday," Zanleya began, sounding almost as nervous as the slave had done. Kharvak waved his hand, indicating she should continue; as swiftly as possible Zanleya outlined the scuffle she had been involved in the previous day. She explained how Lady Cåssie had come to her rescue, about Jensine's attack and the bereaved acolyte's vendetta against her. However she omitted the conversation she had had following the near deadly incident concerning Lady Cåssie's love life, hoping that Kharvak would not notice.

"Interesting. It would seem you have made yourself an enemy," Kharvak said with what almost sounded like amusement. It was not what she had expected him to say, but she was glad he did not press her for further details about Tharmin. She also noticed that he did not appear overly concerned about the cantina fight; while she still deemed Jensine foolish and naïve, had Jensine planned the attack more carefully she could have been killed. It was a fact that had kept her up the previous night. At the time she had dismissed the enraged acolyte as being a fool that she would eventually have to kill. However, when she had looked back on the incident, she realised quite how close to death she had come. If Jensine had found her in a corridor, or caught her alone, there was a very real possibility she could have been murdered. The incident perturbed her, whilst she reasoned that that had not occurred, that there was no point worrying about the infinite possibilities that could have transpired, such logic did not completely settle her.

"She could have killed me master!" Zanleya stated, a hint of anger in her words at his apparent disregard for her wellbeing.

"And whose fault would that have been?" He retorted flatly. Zanleya floundered, staring up at him from where she knelt.

"W…What do you mean?" She said, almost indignant.

"You knew she would be after you didn't you? You knew that you were going to have to look out for her? You knew you would have to be ready for the repercussions of killing Frendric?" Kharvak said condescendingly, having already guessed that the answer to his questions was negative. Zanleya snapped her mouth shut, her brow furrowing. "Surely you checked if Frendric had any connections once you had returned from killing him? Made sure that he did not have any brothers, sisters or lovers who would want to avenge him?" Zanleya felt a bitter taste in her mouth, the one that usually accompanied her failings.

"No master, I didn't," she admitted resentfully.

"I realised," he stated simply. "Let that be a lesson to you then. If ever you kill somebody, make sure you find out who knew them, who their close friends were, who their relatives were and particularly if they had a lover. You need to know who to watch, who might be after you. It is rare indeed that somebody will be completely unconnected, with nobody who cares for them. Perhaps a downtrodden slave, a failed acolyte, or a violent psychopath, but anybody else will have acquaintances and at least some of them will hate you for taking the life of their associate. When you kill, you must be prepared to spill the blood of the others who form vendettas against you…and if you kill them too then you need to be prepared for further feuds with their associates in turn. So it goes on, once you embark on a path of murder, you must always watch your back or be prepared to make an example of all of those who would make an attempt on your life," Kharvak lectured. It certainly did not help her mood, knowing that it was her own fault she could have died.

"Yes master, I understand," Zanleya admitted. In all honesty she had not even thought about consequences, she had been so caught up with the fact she had killed somebody and irrevocably committed herself to the dark side. "But what if she had killed me master?" Zanleya asked meekly, wondering why he was so dismissive of the situation.

"Then you would have failed me. Naturally I would have personally executed her, but remember this, if you die because of your own oversight you will have proven to me that you were not worthy of being my apprentice. You have progressed far since I first met you and I want to complete your training, but don't think that you are utterly irreplaceable," Kharvak answered. Zanleya nodded sagely, in truth she knew that Kharvak was not so strongly attached to her that he would not replace her should she fail. It was the way of the Sith, she understood that, once something proved to be weak or useless it should be cast aside. It was a cold truth but she knew if she died then in his eyes she would have proven herself to be weak and he was better off without her. Nevertheless she liked to believe, if only in a small way, that he cared for her.

"I understand master, I'll be better prepared next time," she vowed.

"Good, see that you are. Remember, knowledge is power, just as much as power is power," Kharvak said, intoning his mantra and catch phrase. "I sense you have a question, speak."

"Yes master, I do. You seem… happy… that I've made an enemy?" Zanleya said; a small smile played about Kharvak's red lips.

"Indeed I am, because it will give you good practice and training for when you become a Sith Lord and run a power base of your own," it was Zanleya's turn to smile. The mere prospect of becoming a powerful Sith in her own right was intoxicating and glorious in equal measure. She was also pleased that Kharvak seemed to think she could achieve it. Despite his cold attitude toward her and the fact he had just said she was not irreplaceable, he clearly did still want her to, and expect her to, succeed. "If and when you get there, you will need to be prepared to fend off jealous rivals, vengeful enemies and cunning usurpers. Power is not a birth right, it is torn free and claimed with bloody hands and then clung on to and protected with utmost prejudice. You will make many enemies as you take that power and you must be prepared to deal with them, such is the way of the Sith. Whether these enemies are Jedi, fellow Sith or ordinary people, you are certain to have them. So the fact that you now have chance to practice, to learn what it is like to have an enemy who desires nothing but your demise, is excellent. It will give you valuable experience whilst you are still within a relatively protected environment. Because make no mistake, you may think that the Academy is a dangerous place, but it is a mere playground compared to the real world of Sith politics," Kharvak explained.

"I see; what should I do about her though master?" Zanleya asked, referring to Jensine.

"That is for you to decide. You have studied the deeds of the ancient Sith, I have taught you much of the philosophy of our kind and the history of many other Lords. You know how they have dealt with their enemies and the results in each case; there is much that you can learn from the past. Pursue whatever course of action seems right to you. Whether you humiliate her, break her spirit, make peace with her or just plain kill her, it is up to you," Kharvak replied. Zanleya smiled malignly, her initial thoughts on the matter had simply been to watch out for Jensine and be prepared to deal with her when she made her move. The concept of striking first had not occurred to her, to establish a rivalry between them in order to rehearse for later life.

"Yes master."

"Regardless, I am pleased that you have both received this lesson on the dangers of killing and that you have the opportunity to practice facing an enemy. From what I know and from what you have told me, I doubt this Jensine acolyte will survive her training anyway, but I will watch how you handle this with interest," Kharvak said. Zanleya guessed the true meaning of the sentence, that meant he was expecting her to manage the situation in a particular way and that he had a desired outcome, or at the very least he would judge her on how she dealt with Jensine.

"I won't disappoint you master," Zanleya stated with determination.

"I hope you won't. Sith politics is a vicious game and the longer you play it the more you realise that your mind and wits are just as much a weapon as your lightsaber. This is why I am so insistent on you appreciating the power of knowledge and information. A secret with which to blackmail a rival is just as powerful as the ability to beat them in a duel, if not more so. When you have enemies, you must make it your priority to know everything you can about them. Their weaknesses, their pressure points, how you can blackmail them or threaten them and then you can decide how best to deal with them." Zanleya paid careful attention, realising that he was hinting how she should deal with Jensine. "What you are about to engage in will be child's play compared to the real thing, but as I said, it will be good experience."

"Then I look forward to the challenge master," Zanleya said. Kharvak resumed his pacing in front of his desk.

"Still, as interesting as the development concerning this foolish acolyte is, that does not explain why Darth Tharmin wishes to see you," Kharvak remarked, the offhand way in which he said it almost caught her off guard. The knot of apprehension returned to her stomach and tightened, made of both the fear of having to go before Tharmin and the fear that Kharvak would realise she was keeping things from him.

She pursed her lips and wondered how best to answer him. Hastily she tried to work out which of the two Darths she feared more. If she told Kharvak about Tharmin's secret, his romantic attachment to Lady Cåssie, then there was every chance Tharmin would realise and punish her severely when they met, for she had told Cåssie she would keep the information to herself. Equally if she did not tell Kharvak and he realised she was withholding information from him, he was likely to chastise her himself. Whilst Tharmin might punish her severely when she saw him, she would have to see Kharvak nearly every day and he might keep inflicting pain on her until she relented and spilled the secret. Suddenly she realised why ignorance of such matters could be a blessing. Which was the lesser evil, she wondered. Lying to Kharvak, she concluded, all this talk of enemies and the danger that real Sith posed to each other, only highlighted the fact that she did not want Lady Cåssie and Darth Tharmin as enemies as well as Jensine. Jensine would be a problem, but thankfully she was only an acolyte, those two were both far above her. At least Kharvak might spare her in the end as she was his apprentice and while he never admitted it, she believed he did still have some attachment to her, not even remotely romantic, but more fatherly. Darth Tharmin on the other hand would see her only as a troublesome acolyte and a threat to his secret… a secret that if it got out could be used to blackmail him. Suddenly it occurred to her the power she held, she could blackmail him herself… she crushed the idea immediately, it was beyond stupid, but should the need ever arise it was a useful piece of information to hold. Kharvak's lesson from only a few minutes ago was brought into sharp focus. It reinforced her decision not to tell her master, she alone wanted that information and she alone would bare the weight and responsibility of it. Darth Tharmin would have realised the power she now held and that was undoubtedly why he wanted to see her, to threaten her into submission or warn her of the dangers of spreading his secret. She doubted he would be merciful to her, but he would show even less restraint if he realised she had told Kharvak. She would have to brave whatever storm Kharvak threw at her for lying she decided, then an idea occurred to her.

"I can't tell you master," Zanleya began. Kharvak stopped pacing abruptly and she saw his expression harden in the face of her defiance. "I learned a secret about him, something that gives me power over him, I couldn't tell you it even if I wanted to. I want to keep this information my own, not only for my own safety but as a future insurance against him for when I become a Sith Lord," she continued. She put on a brave face, but knew that she was taking an incredible gamble. Then Kharvak did something she did not expect, he burst into laughter, a deep and hearty rumble. She had never heard him laugh before and the sound of it shocked her more than if he had force choked her.

"Ha ha! Well well well, that is bold indeed my young apprentice, procuring information to blackmail a Darth before you are even a Lord yourself! I am impressed with your eagerness to join the game of Sith politics, but watch what you are doing, like any who have obtained the rank of Darth, Tharmin is not somebody to be taken lightly," Kharvak warned. Zanleya let out a breath she had not realised she had been holding, relieved that Kharvak appreciated her logic and was in fact impressed by it.

"I know master, I'll be careful," Zanleya said and she meant it with all sincerity.

"Good. I shall respect your tenacity this time and not demand you share this information. Go, you should not keep Tharmin waiting any longer," Kharvak said. Obediently but with fear in her chest Zanleya stood and headed for the door, Darth Tharmin awaited her.


	9. Confrontation

**Confrontation – 3660.287 BY**

With a dread filled stomach Zanleya made her way to Darth Tharmin's chambers, situated on the fifth level of the Academy. She was partly buoyed with confidence from having received her master's approval, but still not nearly confident enough to face Tharmin. This would be the first time that she had spoken to a Darth, besides Kharvak, and she could still clearly remember the first meeting with her master and the petrifying terror she had felt. On that occasion the Darth in question had been coming to her rescue, this time it was quite the opposite.

She muttered the Sith code to herself as she approached the corridor in which Tharmin resided, trying her best to get control of her emotions. By the time she reached the plain and flat metal door she still felt like she was facing a firing squad. With a sweat slicked hand she pressed the intercom.

"My Lord, I, Zanleya, am here to see you," she said, trying to sound self-assured.

The door slid open without a reply from the man within and she stepped inside. The chamber was dark, for it contained no windows and the only source of illumination came from a pair of dull lights on the far wall; they gave off an orangey glow bathing the chamber in their half-hearted light. The room was relatively bare, although a couple of suits of armour rested on stands against the back wall and a row of ancient weapons sat on a rack to the left. The opposite wall was given over to a small repository of knowledge, a few weakly glowing holocrons in a line next to a number of ancient leather bound tomes. A couple of doors in the right wall led away to the rest of Tharmin's domain. However, as was inevitably the case, Zanleya's focus was not on the room's relatively sparse decoration, but on the occupant. Darth Tharmin stood facing her, almost silhouetted by the dull lighting so that discerning his features was hard. He was slightly taller than Kharvak but not quite as broad shouldered, putting him a good head and a bit taller than Zanleya herself. He was clad in an advanced variant of plate armour, white and black segmented greaves protecting his legs whilst his chest was covered by a yellow plate. One gauntleted hand rested on the exquisitely crafted lightsaber clipped to his belt. His face was hidden behind a black mask, a narrow tinted visor stretching across it, despite this Zanleya could still very much feel his gaze burning into her. Whereas Kharvak struck an imposing figure, his posture and behaviour gave him a militaristic presence. Tharmin however exuded the pure power of the dark side, undiminished by apparent servitude to the Empire like Kharvak. While it might just about have been possible, for a fool who did not know otherwise, to look at a pict capture of Kharvak and believe he was a general and not a Sith, the same mistake could not be made with Tharmin. His attire was impressive, his stance displayed the power he wielded and he radiated the energy of the dark side, almost giving him an aura of might.

Without being bidden and practically without needing to think, Zanleya dropped to one knee, her head bowed. As with her encounter with Lady Gethen about a year ago, she knew that her best bet of getting out alive and relatively unharmed, was utmost respect and deference toward Tharmin. She was a threat, if only small, to him and that did not bode well for her continued good health.

"Give me a reason I shouldn't see you killed," Tharmin stated, his voice commanding and slightly distorted by his mask. Zanleya reeled, it was not the introduction she had been expecting. "There are many ways I can see to it that you meet your end: an impossible trial, an accident, a rival acolyte suddenly well equipped. I don't need to break the rules to see to it that you die," Tharmin threatened.

"My Lord!" Zanleya gasped in shock, looking up at the imposing figure standing over her. He did not bother with preamble or grand introductions, Zanleya realised she was here for one thing and one thing only, to ensure her silence one way or another.

"You have intruded upon my business and I don't take kindly to that," he hissed, the noise sounding all the more menacing coming from his speaker grill. "So, tell me, why should I not kill you?" Tharmin demanded. Sudden panic gripped her, she had known Tharmin would not be pleasant toward her, but this was not what she had imagined. Zanleya thought fast, her mind racing as she attempted to find a way to escape the dangerous situation she now found herself in. It was do or die she realised, she was going to have to do something bold to force Tharmin to respect her… that or he would kill her. Knowledge is power, just as much as power is power, Zanleya thought, Kharvak's classic quote drifting into her frightened mind. Tharmin had power, the standard sort, he could speak and his will would be carried out; she did not possess that sort of power. So she would have to try and use knowledge to counter him. Frantically she racked her brain, a thousand ideas and possibilities flying through her mind like a whirling sandstorm of thoughts.

"Because I've set up a dead man's switch," she replied evenly, doing her best to keep her eyes fixed on his hidden face. He paused, his emotionless mask scrutinizing her. "If I don't enter a code every week, what I know about you and your apprentice will be sent to my master Darth Kharvak. If you kill me, he'll learn what I found out," there was a hiss of anger from Tharmin. "So murder me, his apprentice, I'm sure he'll take revenge and kill your apprentice in turn." It was a bold statement indeed and she knew she was very much putting her life on the line. She also did not know if Kharvak would react like that, although she hoped he cared enough for her to at least avenge her should she be murdered.

"Pathetic zygote! How dare you threaten her!" Tharmin thundered, he swiped his hand as if back handing a slave and Zanleya was sent hurtling across the room, crashing into the wall. She had been prepared for such an attack, but her force defence was crushed beneath Tharmin's power, her meagre block shattering before him like a pane of glass. Striking the wall, she fell to the ground completely winded.

"Aghh!" She gasped in pain as soon as she had her breath back, then gritted her teeth and pulled herself onto all fours. Tharmin stalked toward her, unignited lightsaber now gripped in his right hand.

"You know it's true," she spat. "You know he'll want revenge. But if you don't kill me, he'll never find out." Tharmin paused as if he had only just realised something.

"You haven't spread what you know?"

"No, I kept my word, I promised Lady Cåssie that I would not tell anyone and I haven't. The dead man's switch is merely a precaution…" she let the sentence hang, the reason for its creation and the implication of such did not need explaining. In truth she was completely bluffing, she had not set up such a system, yet. If she made it out of Tharmin's chamber alive though she fully intended to; she was just betting on him not seeing through her deception and not wanting to take the risk.

"That was wise of you not to say anything. You're playing with fire little acolyte, with powers you can't handle," Tharmin warned, Zanleya heard the tone of his voice change slightly, it was only the smallest of alterations but she noticed it. He knew she had him beat, she had an advantage over him and he was being cautious now.

"My Lord please forgive me, I should never have said anything to Cåssie in the first place. I do not intend to bring harm upon Lady Cåssie or yourself," Zanleya apologised, pulling herself back to a sitting position. She realised that she was going to have to hastily back track. Hopefully she had convinced him that it was best to let her live and now she wanted to let him recover face and feel like he was in control again. It did not take a genius to work out that Tharmin did not like people having even the tiniest bit of power over him.

"For your sake, I am glad… because if she is harmed because of your actions, death will be a mercy for you," Tharmin threatened. Zanleya did not doubt him for a second.

"I haven't told anybody, not even Kharvak… although he did ask what I knew," Zanleya admitted.

"What did you say to him?" Tharmin demanded.

"That I couldn't tell him what it was I had learnt," she replied. Tharmin nodded his approval.

"Very well, you defied your own master to keep my secret safe, I shall credit you that. If you had told him then you might both have suffered unfortunate accidents," Tharmin stated. Zanleya blanched slightly, that was something that had not occurred to her. Kharvak could only take revenge on her behalf if he was still alive; if Tharmin killed him too, her threat of a dead man's switch was empty. She was not sure which of the two Darths was the more powerful and in truth she did not want to know. Clearly though he did not wish to move against another Darth unless he had to.

"And I will continue to keep it safe, just… don't kill me," Zanleya said lamely. She hated herself for sounding so much like she was begging, almost like the pathetic yellow skinned twi'lek who had died in the tomb of Tulak Hord. She was truly frightened for her life though, as logical as her argument seemed to her, Sith were notoriously unpredictable and volatile.

"Your foresight has saved you this time, but don't think that I will forget about you," Tharmin said.

"I won't cause you trouble," Zanleya insisted, although a voice at the back of her mind told her that that might not be true.

"See that you don't," Tharmin hissed menacingly.

"I promise I won't tell anybody, besides if I did you wouldn't have a reason to spare me anymore would you?" Zanleya said.

"Correct," Tharmin stated. "I have one question, what if you die during a trial? Or because you fail in the duelling pit?" Zanleya detected a note of concern, only a small one and hidden behind a façade of power and anger, but it was definitely there. She realised he was worried that Kharvak would learn his secret even if he was not responsible for killing her. Pausing for a moment she pondered how best to respond. Her immediate reaction was to say that she would not care; if she was dead then Tharmin's love life would not be a concern of hers anymore. However, she knew that was not a sensible line of logic to take.

"He wouldn't come after Cåssie if it wasn't you who killed me. So I imagine it wouldn't matter, besides I don't plan on dying any time soon," Zanleya replied with conviction. Tharmin was obviously not satisfied with this answer, but there was little he could do to change it.

"That's what they all say," he remarked casually, referring to the great numbers of acolytes. "Most of you don't make it." Zanleya narrowed her eyes and put on a face of determination. She was going to become Sith she swore to herself.

"I will," she stated. "And I guess you'll just have to hope fate doesn't conspire against me," she added with a wicked glint in her eyes. Tharmin's left fist clenched and his fingers tightened around the hilt of his lightsaber. They both knew what that meant; she wanted to make sure he did not scheme to get her killed indirectly. He strode forward so that he was looming over her once more, his grim mask glaring down upon her.

"And likewise if anything, anything, happens to Cåssie then you will have seen your last sunrise. So let's hope fate doesn't conspire against her either."

"It won't," she reassured him, doing her best not to flinch away from being in such close proximity to him.

"Just remember little Zanleya, you aren't safe on Korriban. Now get out before I change my mind," he snapped. With utmost relief Zanleya rose to her feet, she gave him a courteous bow, hoping it did not come across as mocking, then made for the door. Tharmin watched her leave and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt both exposed and vulnerable with her back turned to the powerful Darth, but equally she knew that she had to show such submission to him. The door opened and she almost ran through it, desperate to be out of Darth Tharmin's dingy domain and his threatening presence.

She almost sagged to the floor with relief as the door closed behind her, Tharmin's burning gaze at last blocked. Then Zanleya smiled, a small but happy smile. She was still alive, Tharmin had spared her and it sounded like she was not going to have any further problems with him. Of course there was no guarantee, lies and deception were the bread and butter of the Sith Academy, but he seemed to have understood that Cåssie's continued survival was tied to hers. It was by no means an ideal situation, she still wished that she had nothing to do with Tharmin but given how the meeting had started she was just glad to still be in one piece.

Nevertheless, surviving Tharmin was only the start, now she had to endure the machinations of Jensine and all the other trials the cruel and compassionless overseers would throw at her. Still she told herself, it was no mean feat, being confronted by a Darth and coming out alive and relatively unharmed at the other side. One day though, one day she would be that Darth and nobody, not Tharmin, not his lover, nor Jensine or anybody else was going to stop her.


	10. Alone

**Alone – 3660.288 BY**

"You are likely wondering why we have summoned you," Overseer Tremel began, sweeping his gaze across the ten acolytes sat before him.

"Fortunately none of you womp rats were dumb enough to question the order," Overseer Harkun added, sneering at those gathered. He leant against the back wall next to a red flag bearing the imperial logo, arms folded. It had to be said Zanleya was curious, it was very early in the morning, even by Harkun's unreasonable standards. Three days had passed after the trial in the tomb of Tulak Hord and this was their first lesson since… and she sensed this one would be different. In fact force sensitivity was not required to ascertain that something was afoot, two more overseers stood to one side of the vaulted and windowless chamber. The attire of each was markedly different, although both were human.

"You all passed the trial in the tomb of Tulak Hord…" Tremel began.

"Somehow…" Zanleya heard Harkun mutter.

"…and today marks the start of the next phase of your training. We have taught you the basics and you are all on your way to becoming Sith. Although many trials await and there is much more you must do," Tremel continued, pacing before them. "I wager at least half of you will not make it…"

"Most, more likely…" Harkun countered sardonically.

"Nevertheless your training will now change," Tremel went on, ignoring the barbed remarks of his colleague. Or perhaps they had planned this speech, Zanleya could never tell as the pair, whilst so different, worked seamlessly together. "Overseers Ragate and Rance will now teach you in addition to us," Tremel indicated the two other overseers in turn. "It is our belief at this Academy that acolytes should specialise and focus their efforts becoming proficient in one facet of the way of the Sith. It is better that Sith be focused and more skilled in one art than attempt to be a master of them all." Logical, Zanleya thought, although she was curious to see where this was going. "So over the next two weeks you will study both available paths, then choose which you wish to follow. Rance shall teach you the way of the Sith warrior and Ragate shall educate you in the way of the Sith inquisitor. I don't need to emphasise how much of an important decision this is. Rance, if you would tell the acolytes about Sith warriors," Tremel invited. The hulking male in heavy red armour stepped forward, his movements smooth and almost graceful despite his bulky frame. He was an imposing figure, clad as he was in battle gear with a single lightsaber clipped to a belt by his left hip. He was bald save for a quartet of lines of closely cut hair that ran down his scalp and sported something similar to a horseshoe moustache, but lacking any hair directly under his nose. However even beneath his armour his muscles were clearly defined and Zanleya imagined he could pull the wings off a shyrack in his sleep. His immense presence demanded the attention of all in the room and it was obvious he was exceptionally fit.

"Sith warriors represent the pinnacle of martial prowess, we crush those who stand before us without pity," he began, raising and clenching his gauntleted fist. "We are the line breakers, the Jedi killers and the great generals. Sith warriors are masters of the battlefield, we can walk into enemy barrages unharmed or tear through Jedi knights like a storm through dry leaves. If you study under me I shall teach you how to become the embodiment of war, nobody will be able to resist you. Your training will be harsh, but at the end your very bodies will be deadly weapons and with your lightsaber in hand you will be death incarnate," Rance orated, his voice building in strength and passion as he spoke. Zanleya could see Traz practically itching to kneel before the overseer and beg him to teach him all there was to know. Several of the others were leaning forward, hanging on Rance's every word. His speech had Zanleya's interest piqued, the promise of being able to slaughter Jedi particularly appealed to her. However she was also intrigued to hear what the other overseer had to say. Ragate stepped forward to join Rance; she was dressed in close fitting blue robes, her grey hair tied up in a bun behind her head. Her face was marred with both wrinkles and the marks of dark side corruption, although her red eyes were bright and gleamed with life.

"I however am a keeper of the old ways, I can show you how to master the force, to bend it to your will," she began, her voice was soft and she spoke quietly but firmly. "Sith inquisitors are the undisputed lords of sorcery. We can unleash powers others would deem unimaginable, crush the minds of our foes, peer into the future or create items of unfathomable power. Inquisitors do not need to slay their foes in hand to hand combat as our knowledge of the dark side makes such blade work seem petty. I can teach you how to unleash force powers that can devastate your enemies or use the dark side to conceal yourselves and cut them down from the shadows. Only the strongest can master what I have to offer and I will not tolerate weakness, but under me you can learn to wield powers that will rival those of the Lords of Old!" Ragate proclaimed. The air around the old lady seemed to crackle with barely supressed energy and Zanleya could sense the might she possessed. She smiled, while being educated by both sounded fascinating it was Ragate who had her truly enthralled. The promise of power was intoxicating, this was what being Sith meant to her, the ability to twist the rules of nature and reality, to achieve the impossible and annihilate those who stood in her way. Änastasiä also seemed drawn to Ragate and was smiling the wicked grin of hers that normally proceeded acts of great violence. Clearly both overseers had rehearsed their speeches and had likely delivered them multiple times over the years, particularly in Ragate's case, but the effect they had on the acolytes was profound. Eyes hungry for knowledge and power were fixed on both as each acolyte began to weigh up which path sounded more attractive.

Tremel stepped forward again.

"You will have lessons from both Rance and Ragate as well as Harkun and myself. First however I wish to comment on the trial I set you. As you can see, four of those who went into the tomb did not return… four who were unworthy of becoming Sith. How they met their end is of little concern to me. Jandra excelled, he slew the alpha tuk'ata and brought Lord Claw both tusks and has since been taken on as his apprentice," there were whispers from the gathered acolytes as they all looked to Jandra, one of the two purebloods in their group. He smirked, enjoying the envy he was inducing. Whilst acquiring a master was not a concern of Zanleya's, the other acolytes coveted such a prize above all else. She just nodded, mildly surprised it had not been Traz or Änastasiä, but at the same time, she reasoned, Jandra was also very capable.

"I wish to add something else," Tremel started, demanding everyone's attention once more. "I must remind you that murder is forbidden within the grounds of the Academy. No matter who killed who, or what transpired in the tomb, nobody is to strike at another acolyte outside of Harkun's lessons or the duelling pits," he looked pointedly at Zanleya. It was common knowledge now that Jensine had tried to kill her in the cantina only two days before, the rumour mill ran quickly within the Academy. "I don't wish to hear of any further altercations within Academy grounds. That is all I have to say for now; Rance shall expect you back here in an hour for your first lesson," Tremel stated.

"Tremel might have praised you, but fetching the overgrown teeth of wild animals doesn't make you Sith so don't get any delusions. You'll have to do far more than that to impress me," Overseer Harkun sneered, stalking forward. "There will be no special treatment for those who now have masters," although as he said this he was looking at Zanleya rather than Jandra. "You all have to finish your training… or more likely die along the way whilst the purebloods, those truly destined for greatness, stride on. I will however reiterate what Tremel just said, if I hear of any of you breaking our rules, I will make sure your demise is both slow and painful." He gave Zanleya a last glare, as if daring her to disobey him, then strode from the room followed by the other three. A brief silence fell before the acolytes turned to one another and began discussing the choice that lay before them.

"So the little red head finally found the courage to stab something," Gremek mocked after a couple of minutes, the black haired human folded his arms and eyed Zanleya with contempt.

"Didn't think you had it in you," Maren added. Zanleya scowled at them both, clearly everyone also knew about her killing Frendric during the trial… not that that was surprising.

"Maybe I should give you another lesson on how to duel properly," Traz drawled; he had been responsible for one of the other four acolytes not returning.

"Ha ha, yeah that was most amusing last time," Gremek added with a dark laugh. It was fortunate for Zanleya that her hair covered her ears as the latter had just taken on the colour of the former as she blushed with embarrassment and anger. A year on and she still hadn't forgiven Traz for the beating he had given her in the duelling pit… and nor had she avenged herself for that matter.

"Go on, you should, it'd be prime entertainment," Maren encouraged. The two humans were like Traz's lackeys, at least they behaved as such even if both were significantly more skilled than mere minions.

"Oh but Zan and I had such fun with Frendric!" Änastasiä cooed.

"So I heard," Gremek said. "I also hear a certain Jensine is without a lover, I reckon I could fill the hole in her heart!" The acolytes had formed a rough circle now, Traz and his cronies opposite Zanleya. "I bet she'd whisk me off to her room at once were I to avenge dear Frendric on her behalf," he added. The remark was made for crude humour but the undertone of menace was real. Zanleya was only too well aware that Jensine was out for revenge and her situation would not be helped if Traz and his henchmen sided with the vengeful acolyte.

"I wouldn't mind settling the score for Yena either," Zirik said with vehemence, referring to the yellow skinned twi'lek Zanleya had refused to help and who Änastasiä had summarily slain.

"Oh really? And who would you like to settle that score with?" Änastasiä asked far too sweetly. "Me, or Zan?" Zirik shut his mouth, but his other twi'lek friend spoke up.

"You'll both get what's coming to you, you monsters!" The green skinned twi'lek spat. Both she and Zirik had been friends with Yena and were clearly upset by the brutal departure of their companion. Änastasiä merely laughed, a deranged and somewhat unnerving sound.

"Woah, don't get your lekku in a twist, we're just trying to help the bereaved and loss stricken Jensine get some justice," Maren said. "I bet she'd rather have me though, don't think you'd be her type you're all skin and bone," he teased Gremek. Zanleya felt a cold and uneasy feeling, as if everyone in the room was turning on her one by one. She felt suddenly vulnerable; Traz had given her grief in the past, but after beating her had all but forgotten she existed. Now however she had unfortunately brought herself back into the limelight. Änastasiä was no friend of hers, she had in fact tried to kill her and it had only been with the timely, or untimely depending on your point of view, arrival of Frendric that the two girls had become allies of convenience. However that had been it; there was nothing further between them.

Zanleya looked at the other acolytes, wondering who their loyalties would lie with if push came to shove. There was Anral, the closest thing she had had to a friend over the last two years, she reckoned he would support her. Unfortunately though he had grown distant of late as if something else was troubling him and they had hardly spoken. There was Zarriar, the quiet red and black zabrak, a latecomer to the group of acolytes. Zanleya knew little about her and as of yet had had even less to do with her, she had no idea if she would support Jensine or herself; more likely than not she would just ignore them. That left Jandra, Lord Claw's new apprentice, who had remained aloof throughout their training. As a pureblood he had always looked down on all the rest of them, except the other pureblood Anral, and their current squabbling also seemed to be beneath his attention. There was nobody else.

"I bet you won't even get to make the choice between warrior and inquisitor little Zanleya," Gremek taunted, using their derogatory nickname for her. She was at least two years younger than any of the other acolytes and they liked to remind her of this. "I bet Jensine's going to get you first, or she'll pay one of us to do it for her... pay in money or other favours…" Gremek added crudely.

"Stick your unsophisticated delusions up a bantha's butt you nerf herder! I won't be dying any time soon and Jensine won't be around long enough to do anything with you," Zanleya shot back hotly. Gremek just laughed, Maren with him.

"We'll see little Zanleya, we'll see," Traz mused threateningly, the hulking rattataki smiling menacingly at her. And in that moment Zanleya felt something she had not truly felt in a long time, she felt alone. Jensine wanted revenge and over half her group seemed ready to side with the grief stricken acolyte whilst the others were indifferent. Her master Kharvak had already made it clear that she was not irreplaceable and beyond the nine others in the room she hardly knew anyone else. There was nobody to turn to and nobody she could trust to watch her back, she truly was alone. Not for the first time she felt anxious, worried that if she did not do something she would fall into disaster. An inescapable feeling of isolation grew on her, life at the Academy had been tough these last few years, but she could already tell the worst was yet to come.


	11. Golden Teardrops

**Golden Teardrops – 3660.292 BY**

Zanleya stared out of her narrow window as darkness fell across Korriban, lost in thought. The past few days had been beyond busy, with almost back to back lessons from the four overseers. On top of that Kharvak had not relented in his teaching resulting in her having very little spare time and even less chance to worry about her nemesis. Today however she had eked out an earlier finish as Tremel was overseeing the trial of another set of acolytes. So now, having eaten swiftly, Zanleya stood in her room pondering how best to proceed.

She needed allies. She needed somebody to watch her back. She needed a network of informants… She needed a lot of things and had no idea how to go about getting any of them. She barely knew anybody beyond her group of acolytes, none of whom seemed likely candidates for alliances. Then who? She thought in agitation, banging her fists upon the window sill with frustration. Suddenly inspiration struck, like a thunderbolt of unexpected knowledge. There was somebody else, an individual she had bumped into a year ago, one who just might be able to help.

Using the force she swept the holocomm off her desk into her hand and fired it up, as the pale blue holographic keyboard appeared she keyed in 'Lady Gethen'. The profile of the youthful Sith appeared, looking much the same as she had a year ago, the burn scar still visible across her left cheek. She hovered her finger over the call button for a moment, before deciding it would be more polite to send a simple message. After all, she reasoned, there was no knowing if Gethen would even remember her, they had only met the once and had not spoken since. After a few attempts she fashioned a short message, simply stating that she had an issue and if the Lady could spare her a couple of hours she would be most indebted to her.

Zanleya honestly did not know what to expect, a polite refusal perhaps, maybe an invitation to chat or more likely simply no response at all. She placed the holocomm back on her desk and returned to brooding, watching as the last rays of light vanished from the sky.

The chime only a mere minute later caught her completely by surprise. She retrieved the now blinking holocomm, there was an unread response from Gethen, eagerly she tapped it.

'Zanleya, that was excellent timing, I had been meaning to get in contact with you for a week now. I would be most happy to see you and catch up. How about my apartment in an hour's time? – Lady Gethen'.

Blinking in surprise Zanleya took a moment to process the message. An alarm siren started to shrill at the back of her mind, warning her that something was afoot, Gethen clearly had things on her mind too. However she quelled such thoughts, she had asked for an audience and could hardly refuse now. Besides, this was what she needed and as she had nothing else of note to do that evening it was a perfect opportunity.

After sending a quick reply she tidied herself up, deciding she needed to look at least presentable. She swapped her grey day to day robes for a looser brown and black set, exchanged her scuffed training boots for a black pair that almost reached up to her knees. Clipping her belt round her waist and readjusting her fringe she looked at herself in the mirror. The freckled face that looked back gave the appearance of innocence, unadorned by cosmetics or tattoos. Deep green eyes, a soft jawline with red hair swept over to the right, slightly longer on that side. Counting with the standard Coruscant solar cycle system she was still a teenager, although age did not mean much on Korriban. Everyone in the Academy grew up fast, or did not grow up at all. Not that it stopped her fellow acolytes from calling her 'little Zanleya'. The thought caused her to scowl, the features in the reflection twisting and in that moment the eyes of a killer could be glimpsed, peeking out from behind the façade of impish youth.

It would do, she thought, her attire was practical and that was what mattered. Without further delay she swept off to find Lady Gethen's apartment.

Gethen's apartment was situated in the newer build of the Academy, behind the original pyramid shaped building at the heart. It was set into the side of a red stone cliff alongside the abodes of other upcoming Sith. The door slid open before Zanleya's hand even reached the intercom and feeling a little apprehensive, she stepped in.

The foyer was spacious and lit with a soft pale blue light, which served to smooth the edges of the room. A curved floor to ceiling window made up the wall opposite the door, giving a grand view over the rugged wastes of Korriban. The walls were smooth patterned metal, gently curving to the window and twisting to form an alcove to the right that presumably led to further rooms. The architecture was almost the polar opposite to the harsh edges and dull colours of the Academy proper, but it gave the room a gentle feel, like it was the eye of calm within the storm of Korriban. The walls were adorned with what Zanleya assumed was tasteful art, although she had little experience in such matters. Aside from counters, a terminal and an assortment of Gethen's personal belongings, the main furniture was a pair of curving couches facing the window, a low drinks table between them. Gethen waved to her from one of these.

"Zanleya! So good to see you again, I am glad you could come," Gethen greeted. Zanleya walked over, her gaze still drifting round the room, it was unlike anything she had seen before, particularly in the Academy.

"And you, thank you for inviting me," Zanleya replied politely, turning her attention to her host. Gethen looked quite different to the last time the pair had met. Though her brown hair and fair skinned features were the same, albeit that her hair was now tied up in an elegant bun, her attire had changed drastically. Rather than robes and armour she now wore a long deep azure blue dress, cut away round her sides to reveal pale skin. The garment was clinched in at the waist to accentuate her dainty but lithe figure. It reached right up to her neck, but left her shoulders bare before flowing down to cover her arms and ending at her wrists with narrow cuffs. Silvery thread had been sewn through it, weaving intricate patterns across the dress. Zanleya was immediately struck with two conflicting thoughts: firstly how impractical it was, not befitting a Sith Lord, but secondly thoughts of envy at how refined and elegant Gethen looked.

Gethen waved at the opposite seat inviting the acolyte to join her. Zanleya, feeling somewhat out of place in her drab robes, sat across from Gethen, her eyes still fixed on the Lady's attire.

"Here, have a drink," Gethen offered as Zanleya settled down. She poured a yellow orange liquid from a crystal decanter into a small glass. Zanleya noticed a number of slim rings upon Gethen's slender fingers, set with precious stones. Clearly she had risen in both status and wealth since their last meeting.

"Thank you, but I don't drink alcohol," Zanleya declined as Gethen filled her own glass. She had never drunk before, partly through simple habit of never frequenting bars, partly because having ones senses dulled by drink when on a planet filled with countless volatile and powerful beings struck her as a bad idea.

"I can sense your anxiety and tension, trust me, have a drink. Its golden teardrop, all the way from Rishii," Gethen encouraged. Not wishing to seem rude, although with some hesitation, Zanleya took the glass. She tentatively sipped the concoction, it was both sweet and spicy and the spirit burned at the back of her throat. It was a strange sensation but not one she found altogether unpleasant, the taste however was sublime.

"Nice?" Gethen queried, sipping her own.

"Yes, although it's quite strong!" Zanleya replied, Gethen merely chuckled slightly mischievously.

"How have you been this past year? Your training has been going well I take it?" Gethen asked, leaning back on the couch.

"Pretty well, certainly better than when we last spoke!" Zanleya replied, then proceeded to relate some of the notable events of the past year. Gethen provided a few tales of her own, detailing her adventures and escapades. At length Gethen brought the conversation round to the real reason she had visited.

"So tell me, what's this issue of yours?" Gethen inquired, refilling Zanleya's now empty glass. Zanleya pulled a face as Gethen topped her up, she could already feel a flush going to her cheeks, but her nerves had settled somewhat. Nevertheless it had to be said she felt better having had the first drink so accepted a second.

"Well, it started in the tomb of Tulak Hord…" She began, before relating the events of the last week. Although she had a suspicion that Gethen already knew most of it.

"So I need allies, I need to build a powerbase… but I don't know how. I hoped you could give me some advice," Zanleya concluded. A faint smile hovered around Gethen's lips.

"Why me? Why not Kharvak?" Gethen queried.

"Well… I don't want to ask him everything and I guess getting the opinion of other Sith is important too," Zanleya replied.

"He wants you to deal with Jensine on your own?" Gethen surmised. Zanleya looked a little sheepish and nodded, while she was not dressed like a stereotypical Sith Lord, Gethen was still every bit as cunning and quick to spot half-truths. "Well I respect that you value my knowledge and I can share some of it with you. Obviously the best way to learn is through practice. The process of building up a network of contacts and allies is complicated and of course no two occasions are the same as everyone is different. I could probably talk for hours on my experiences, but I'll boil it down to some useful tips for you," Gethen began. Her attention never left Zanleya and likewise the young acolyte's eyes never strayed from the lady.

"My first tip is to always try to negotiate from a position of power. If you have something others want they are far more likely to assist you or work for you. It sounds simple and I guess it is, but it's something many of my fellow Lords and Ladies forget. Never get so self-centred and arrogant that you think people will ally with you just because of who you are. Only members of the Dark Council can enjoy that privilege. If you don't have something they want, try and find out what they do desire and acquire it. Take for example a fellow Lord I know called Zendrak, I needed one of his agents on Hutta to run an errand for me, so before speaking to him I found out about dear Zendrak. Turns out he is quite the spice addict, so I located the gang that supplied him and ensured they had some… accidents. I could then offer him my 'more reliable' contacts I had established on Nar Shaddaa to keep him supplied, in return for the use of his agent. I also, indirectly, now control his supply of spice if ever I need his help again. That's what I mean, get power or leverage over somebody, then speak to them," Gethen lectured.

"You did all of that, before even speaking to Zendrak?" Zanleya exclaimed incredulously. "What if he'd just said 'yeah sure' when you asked to use his agent?"

"Now there's your mistake, Sith don't cooperate by nature. Kharvak may have told you that all Sith should work together for the glory of the Empire," Gethen interjected, her voice taking on a mocking tone for the last four words. Zanleya frowned as her master's reputation was ridiculed, however light heartedly it was done, Gethen just chuckled. "Your master is an idealist, I like to think of myself as a realist, besides you came to me to get a different opinion didn't you? In the real galaxy things don't proceed exactly as Kharvak wishes. If you want to be a step ahead of your peers, you need to be ready to plan for everything," Gethen continued. Zanleya realised for the second time she had underestimated the razor sharp mind of Lady Gethen.

"Further to that, if you have something somebody wants, strike a hard bargain, always ask for more. Say somebody offers you a gunship to assist you in return for your services, ask for three. Nine times out of ten, if you have an advantage over them, they'll concede, so you might as well get all you can."

"Okay, so I need some advantage over people, or something to blackmail them with, but how do I get that? I can't find this stuff out about people just by looking them up on the holonet and I don't have spies working for me," Zanleya said.

"True, but you can do it the old fashioned way, ask around, talk to people who know them. Go to bars, you can learn an awful lot about somebody over a golden teardrop, particularly if you're speaking to an individual who doesn't like your target," Gethen countered, she chuckled as she saw Zanleya's face scrunch up. "Yes, that does mean you need to go and socialise! Come on, a drink every now and then isn't bad!" Gethen said, taking another sip of her golden teardrop.

"Yeah, but I don't want to waste time in a bar, I could be in the archives instead learning about the force," Zanleya retorted.

"But you won't build a powerbase in the archives," Gethen countered evenly. Still not looking convinced Zanleya let out a sigh.

"Okay, but what about gaining more traditional allies then? Rather than people you have power over," Zanleya asked.

"So people are split into three categories, in my mind at least. There are those who are weaker than you, they will readily ally with you as they have more to gain, but there will be little advantage in such an alliance for you. There are those who are more powerful than you, who are unlikely to ally with you unless you can offer them something in return. Then there are those who are your peers, the people who are more likely to help you. In your position it's this third group you want to seek supporters from. New recruits to the Academy will be no use to you and you're still too inexperienced for Lords and Darths to be interested in your offers, so your peers are your best bet," Gethen said. Zanleya nodded in agreement, then paused.

"Wait, then why are you helping me? What is it you think I can offer?"

"Very astute," Gethen said with a smile. "I was wondering when you would ask. Would you believe me if I said I'm helping you because I'm interested and like you?" Zanleya hesitated, not sure what the right answer to give was. She did not want to offend her host, but also did not wish to lie to her. Gethen laughed mischievously at Zanleya's awkward pause.

"From your expression I know what the answer is. I do like you, but you're right, I also believe you can offer me something. Which is why I had been meaning to write to you," Gethen said.

"You didn't forget to contact me though," Zanleya stated, from what she had learnt so far this evening she doubted Gethen would merely have forgotten to message her.

"You're right, I was actually waiting to see how this situation with Jensine played out, but you got in contact with me first, so I thought it would've been silly not to respond," Gethen answered. Zanleya simply nodded, not surprised by the answer this time.

"So, what is it you think I can help with?" Zanleya inquired.

"What do you know of The Inquisition?" Gethen asked, leaning forward.

"Well not much yet, Overseer Ragate has only been…"

"No no, not Sith Inquisitors, The Inquisition," Gethen interrupted, emphasising the 'the'.

"I don't know what you mean," Zanleya said, slightly bemused.

"The Inquisition is an organisation led by my master, Darth Erebus, and created by the Dark Council. It's an elite group of Sith, fifteen of us in total, the Grand Inquisitor Erebus, the Grand Executioner Metitirice, twelve other Inquisitors and myself. Our primary job is to act as the secret arm of the Dark Council. We deal with rogue Sith, ensuring that errant individuals don't turn against the Empire or harm the war effort. Of course power squabbles and the odd murder are fine, but we prevent Sith from trying to carve out their own empires or cause similar trouble. When not doing that we act as an elite force to cripple Republic supply lines, shatter battle formations or break enemy resistance," Gethen explained. Zanleya had certainly heard Erebus' name mentioned, but had not realised quite how close to the Dark Council he was.

"The organisation is still in its infancy, but so far we've achieved excellent results. However, Darth Erebus is now keen not just to be dealing with problematic Sith when they arise, but to be actively hunting them out before they become an issue to the Empire. He says it's not enough to simply react, we need to pre-empt them. So that's where you come in. As I have further study to carry out on Korriban, I have been assigned to this world to keep tabs on upcoming Sith. There is one individual who has caught my attention, somebody I feel I should investigate."

"And she's in my group of acolytes," Zanleya guessed, having already figured out where Gethen's line of logic was going and who it was likely to be.

"Precisely and I bet you know who I mean.

"Änastasiä."  
"Indeed, I don't know enough about her, except that she has a predisposition toward violence and a tendency to be unpredictable," Gethen said. "So, I will help you and in return I want you to spy on Änastasiä for me," Gethen said. There was a hard look in her eyes as her scheme started to play out. Zanleya drew in a breath and leant back. She had narrowly survived her last encounter with Änastasiä and certainly did not want to antagonise her further.

"Änastasiä is dangerous, I have enough enemies already," Zanleya said hesitantly, not wishing to displease or outright refuse Gethen.

"I'm not asking you to fight her; I simply want you to learn more about her. That way I can better assess the situation and work out if The Inquisition should be worried about her or not," Gethen reasoned.

"She'll know what I'm doing, her force perception is… impressive," Zanleya said. "And if she finds out, she'll try to kill me."

"Then you'll have to be sly about it, I hear from Ragate you're showing quite some proficiency at force shrouding," Gethen said. Zanleya smiled at the compliment, but it did not overcome the apprehension she felt at spying on Änastasiä.

"Hmm, so I find out what? Her history, her desires, plans? That sort of thing?"

"Yes, I just want to know more about her so I can better predict if she's going to cause us trouble or not," Gethen replied.

"Okay…" Zanleya assented. "But if I'm to do this I want something more in return," she spotted the corner of Gethen's lips twist up.

"Ha ha, you're a fast learner I'll give you that. Go on, make your hard bargain."  
"You're an expert at force lightning aren't you?" Zanleya said.  
"Well, yes, I would say I am."

"Will you teach me? I feel I'm nearly there, I want that power, I want to be able to wield lightning like Ragate," Zanleya said wistfully. "Maybe one evening a week?"

"Yes, that I can certainly do. It will give me chance to practice as well and you can update me on your findings at the same time," Gethen agreed. Zanleya smiled, her eyes now alight, the anticipation of mastering force lightning making her skin tingle with excitement. Spying on Änastasiä would be no easy task, but it would be worth it. Besides, she reasoned, if she could continue to build a good rapport with Gethen and this Inquisition it would certainly help her in the future.

"Thank you," Zanleya said, remembering her manners now that the bargaining and scheming was finished.

"I think this will be most beneficial for both of us," Gethen said with a smile. "Anyway, that's enough serious matters for one evening. We all need time to relax as well," she announced, pouring herself another drink.

Zanleya would have hated to admit it, but she had enjoyed the evening thus far. The outcome had certainly been positive, that was what really mattered to her. She had some ideas of where to start her quest for a powerbase. It felt like she had made some progress, taken the first steps toward bringing about Jensine's downfall. All the same she was not going to turn down the opportunity to simply relax with Gethen. After all, an awful lot could be learnt about somebody over a golden teardrop.


End file.
